


you're not flawed, darling (just a little under-rehearsed)

by sparrow30



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Curses, Geralt is smol, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Sorcerers fucking everything up, and Jaskier has Feelings™ about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow30/pseuds/sparrow30
Summary: “You’re tall,” Geralt said slowly, brain struggling to catch up with this particular turn of events.“Always have been, dear Witcher, but thank you for finally noticing.”“You’re taller than me.” Geralt found himself rather unhappy about this fact. Granted, Jaskier only had an inch or two on him, but it was the principle of the thing.“I’m taller than most folk,” Jaskier admitted with a small shrug, grinning at Geralt’s raised eyebrow in response. “Very few people realise because everyone looks small standing next to a Witcher now don’t they?"After an unfortunate run in with a sorcerer, Geralt finds himself de-witchered.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 149
Kudos: 1210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Rocks up late with starbucks_ Hi everyone! It seems I've officially joined the Witcher fandom! This fic is courtesy of two tumblr posts featuring [Joey too-hairy-to-be-a-twink Batey](https://sparrow30.tumblr.com/post/614514650616397824/giantsquidastern-paganofyoursunlight) and [Henry tiny-porcelain-teacup Cavill](https://sparrow30.tumblr.com/post/617614361372016640/zombeesknees-mcavoys-henry-cavill-the-count), followed by many hours of ridiculous conversation between myself and travelling-under-r mapping that onto the Witcher world...basically blame her for everything!
> 
> Thanks as always to the amazing [lilinas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilinas/pseuds/lilinas), who is valiantly beta-ing this despite not having watched the series or played the games, I don't know what I'd do without you love!
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments, I love to hear from y'all!

It all started with a sorcerer, as most of Geralt’s problems tended to do. 

In this particular instance it was when he picked up a contract in the hamlet of Mulbrydale. There had been sightings of a Selkiemore in a nearby river, and the magistrate of the town wished it gone. They’d offered a decent enough purse, and so Geralt and Jaskier had paid for a room at the local inn where Geralt could prepare and Jaskier could ply his trade.

It was still early in the evening when Geralt discovered that he was running low on a number of potion ingredients, so after getting directions from the innkeeper to the town’s apothecary he left Jaskier singing - and shamelessly flirting - and headed out to restock.

A bell tinkled overhead as he pushed open the door to the apothecary, the shop small but well maintained. An elderly sorcerer shuffled out from a back room, spine bowed with age but eyes still sharp. 

“What can I help you with, Witcher?” he asked, slowly making his way over towards the counter. 

“I’m in need of these items.” Appreciating the lack of small talk, Geralt placed a sheet of paper listing half a dozen ingredients on the table.

The man didn’t pick up the paper, but simply cocked his head curiously. “You’re in town to kill that Selkie, aren’t you?” 

So much for that then. Geralt barely suppressed a sigh as he nodded curtly.

  
“I’m in need of Selkie teeth for my personal collection,” the sorcerer continued undeterred, still not acknowledging Geralt’s list on the counter in front of him. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement of payment in trade? Your skills for mine.”

Geralt was about to decline, but then he remembered how light his coin purse had been recently, and how expensive some of the items on his list could be. “Sure, fine,” he agreed with a shrug. If he was going to be killing the monster anyway it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to collect the teeth afterwards.

The sorcerer nodded brusquely, as if the deal had always been a foregone conclusion. “Excellent, come back when you have my teeth and I’ll see you sorted.”

In retrospect, he really should have known not to accept such an open-ended deal. 

Life had taught him better than that.  _ Yennefer _ had taught him better than that. But The Path had been kind to him recently, his reputation sufficiently bolstered by Jaskier’s heralding - though he would sooner rip out his own tongue than admit that to the bard. Nowadays he was more likely to get a free meal and a comfortable room at the end of a hard day’s work than to be cursed and chased out of town. Clearly he’d gotten complacent.

So he shook the sorcerer’s wizened old hand and agreed to return the next day with the promised Selkie teeth, and left without giving it too much thought.

He supposed that was why they always say a content Witcher is a dead Witcher.

* * *

It took Geralt most of the next day to find the Selkiemore, followed by a surprisingly gruelling battle to take it down. He returned to the village just as the sun was setting behind the mountains, with the monster’s head in a sack and a variety of potions still flowing through his veins. The magistrate took one look at Geralt - eyes back and skin paper-white - and hurriedly handed over his payment. Geralt took just enough time to count the coin to make sure the town wasn’t trying to stiff him, then headed back to the inn to collapse in peace.

Jaskier was in the common room practicing some of his newer songs, but the moment he saw his exhausted Witcher he promptly packed up his lute, flagging down a serving girl to ask for a bath to be sent up to their room. It was a testament to just how tired Geralt was that he didn’t even put up a token protest as the bard made quick work of removing his armour and clothes before shepherding him into the scaldingly hot water. 

“So how was it?” Jaskier asked as he ran soap over Geralt’s shoulders and up his neck, his sharp nails digging into Geralt’s scalp in a way that practically made the Witcher melt. “Do you have any good material for me?”

Geralt grunted noncommittally. “A Selkie, is a Selkie, is a Selkie,” he answered, sinking deeper into the still blissfully hot water.

“Descriptive as ever, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier replied, his voice teasing even as he pressed a gentle kiss to Geralt’s nape. “Next time I’ll just have to be there to see for myself.”

“There’d be nothing for you to see, most of the fight happens underwater.” 

“Well that’s rather unhelpful now isn’t it?” Jaskier gave an exaggerated moan as he started combing oil through Geralt’s tangled hair with his fingers. “You’d think these beasties would have more respect for the creative process.”

Geralt huffed a soft laugh, barely more than a whisper of breath but still more than most people managed to elicit from him. “Next time I’m sent to kill one I’ll tell them to be more considerate,” he promised seriously.

“You do that,” Jaskier replied just as seriously. “Now, up you get and into bed, before you fall asleep in this tub and prune.”

“Witchers don’t prune,” Geralt argued even as he allowed himself to be tugged upright. “And I need to get these teeth to the apothecary. I want to leave at first light tomorrow.”

Jaskier gave an exaggerated sigh, and insisted that Geralt re-dress in clean clothes and  _ not _ the ones he’d been monster fighting in, but didn’t argue any further when Geralt picked up the bag of Selkie teeth and headed back out into the night.

“Come back soon, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier called from the doorway as he gave an exaggerated wave. “Lest you miss my evening performance chronicling your heroic actions that definitely  _ didn’t _ happen underwater.”

* * *

The apothecary was just as empty the second time Geralt entered, the sorcerer waiting for Geralt behind his counter.

“Welcome back, Witcher,” he said as he slowly stood up, one hand extending to beckon Geralt forwards. “I trust you have what you promised?”

Geralt grunted in response, dumping the bag of teeth on the counter. The sooner the trade was done the quicker he could get to bed. “Do you have my items?” 

The sorcerer blinked slowly, then laughed; a sharp wheezing thing. “Oh no Witcher, I have something much better for you than mere ingredients.”

Geralt growled, the sound coming from low in his throat. He was too tired for this nonsense. “I have no time for your games, Sorcerer. Give me what we agreed upon or you will regret it.”

“We agreed to trade in kind; monster for magic,” the man countered, looking almost gleeful. “I assure you I am doing just that.”

Geralt’s frown deepened as he took a step menacingly towards the counter, one hand reaching behind him for his sword. He didn’t truly plan to use the weapon on the old man, but he also wanted to be done with this exchange and wasn’t above some light intimidation to make that happen.

Except instead of looking intimidated the sorcerer’s grin only widened. “I promise you Witcher, you will soon see that what I am giving you is worth far more than some measly herbs. My payment is to give you that which you desire, but do not acknowledge.” 

A bright flash of white temporarily blinded Geralt, eyes still sensitive from the Cat potion he’d consumed earlier. He blinked frantically and the room came back into focus just in time for him to see the sorcerer - and his Selkie teeth - disappear through a closing portal. 

He felt the whisper of magic coat his skin like oil and roared with rage, fist coming down on the counter so hard it snapped in two. He  _ hated _ it when magic was used on him without his consent, and now he was down a set of Selkie teeth  _ and _ the ingredients for his potions. 

The whole exchange couldn’t have gone worse if it tried. Fucking sorcerers.

* * *

By the time he returned to the inn his foul mood had thoroughly taken hold. Jaskier was leading the patrons through a surprisingly bawdy ballad, weaving in and out of the tables with practiced ease. He immediately clocked Geralt’s arrival and altered his course so that he could make his way towards him, but paused when he saw the heavy set of the Witcher’s shoulders. 

Geralt gave a small half-wave in apology, knowing Jaskier liked it when he stayed to watch but not in the mood for anything other than sleep. Jaskier’s expression morphed into one of fond understanding and he gave a small nod before whirling back across the room, strumming his lute with practiced ease. 

Geralt took a moment to enjoy the sight of his bard in his element, his lips twitching into a smile despite everything. Then he gave an exhausted sigh and trudged towards the stairs that led up to their room. 

He practically collapsed into bed, just about managing to strip out of his clothes before hitting the pallet face-first. Sleep claimed him quickly and thoroughly, with just the whisper of a memory of the sheets being pulled over him by delicate hands and a gentle kiss to his cheek by familiar lips.

* * *

He was startled awake the next morning by a panicked exclamation of “What the fuck?!”, followed by a loud thump.

He bolted upright, immediately on high alert for danger. It took him a long moment to get his bearings - longer than his Witcher senses should really allow for - but eventually he took in the sight of Jaskier tangled in the sheets on the floor next to their bed.

He groaned and slumped back down onto the mattress. Once it was apparent that they weren’t in any immediate danger, he was able to acknowledge that he felt  _ terrible _ . All of his senses felt muted, like they’d been wrapped in fabric. The world was moving too quickly around him, his responses feeling slow and laggy. 

“What are you doing down there?” he asked, voice muffled by his pillow, and even  _ that _ sounded strange. Had the monster yesterday managed to infect him somehow without him realising? He was pretty sure Selkies weren’t toxic to Witchers but...

A flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye saw Jaskier struggle to his feet, sheets clutched tightly around him as he stared imperiously down at Geralt in bed. 

“Now see here,” he exclaimed, sounding decidedly flustered. “I don’t know what happened last night, or what you  _ think _ happened, but you should know that I am in a happily committed relationship. A happily committed relationship with a Witcher, no less.”

“Good to know,” Geralt replied dryly. “Now can you please get back into bed?”

Jaskier spluttered indignantly, “No I shall not get back into bed with you, I don’t even  _ know _ you. I don’t even know how I got here!” A long pause, and then a stricken whisper. “Did you  _ drug _ me?” 

Geralt groaned, low and long-suffering. He was in no state to be dealing with...whatever game Jaskier wanted them to be playing right now. “Jaskier, stop being an idiot and get back into bed.” He reached out and made a vague grabbing gesture at the other man. “We can discuss whatever roleplay this is supposed to be when I feel less like I was trampled by a Griffin.”

There was a long, pregnant pause where Geralt vaguely fantasized about strangling his bard - he had to admit it’d been a while since that last happened - before Jaskier finally spoke again. 

“Geralt? Is that you?”

Geralt growled, thoroughly done with this game. “Who else would I be? The fucking King of Nilfgaard?”

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice went dangerously high pitched, and if Geralt didn’t know any better he would have said he sounded panicked. “Gods Geralt, what  _ happened _ to you?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Killed a Selkie. Got fucked over by a sorcerer. Slept. Woke up feeling like death.” Geralt rolled over and sat up slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Seriously, what is all this about?”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth three times in quick succession, staring at Geralt like he’d grown an extra head. Then he scurried over to his packs and brought out an ornate hand mirror, returning to the bed and thrusting it into Geralt’s hand.

“See for yourself,” he whispered.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, but did as he asked and brought up the mirror to take a look at himself.

A stranger stared back at him, a young man who couldn’t be a day over twenty. Gone were his yellow cat eyes, replaced with grey-blue orbs that tugged at a long forgotten memory deep in the recesses of his brain. His hair was short brown and curled; nothing like the silver locks he was so used to seeing.

It was only decades of training that stopped him from dropping Jaskier’s mirror in shock. He slammed his eyes closed, taking a deep breath and forcing his suddenly racing heart to calm. It felt like a jackrabbit inside his chest, beating faster than it had in decades. This had to be a hallucination, some sort of fever dream brought on by the toxin that was clearly affecting all his other senses. It had to be; this wasn’t possible.

Slowly he opened one eye, then another. The young man was still there, but this time he started to see familiarities in what had all been foreign before. The set of his jaw, the line of his cheeks. Slowly he lifted a hand to trace the curve of his nose; it was the same shape as it always had been. 

Suddenly the memory clicked into place, and with it the horrific understanding of what he was seeing. Those eyes were his mother’s eyes, they were  _ his _ eyes, from before. This was him without mutation. This was who he would have been if he hadn’t grown up at Kaer Morhen, if he hadn’t gone through the trials and destroyed and remade his body with round upon round of Mutagens. 

This was who he could have been, if he hadn’t been a Witcher.

  
“Oh... _ fuck _ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you _so_ much for all the wonderful feedback and comments left on the first chapter, I'm honestly a little overwhelmed at how much attention it got! Hope you enjoy chapter 2!

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away indeed. “Geralt can you hear me?”

Could he? He wasn’t sure. Did it even count as hearing when everything was so fucking  _ quiet _ ? 

He ran his fingers over the outer shell of his left ear, the skin smooth and delicate like it hadn’t spent the better part of a century on the road. Everything was so dull, so muted. Where was the constant hum of  _ life _ that he’d come to think of as the heartbeat of the world? Was this surface level scratching all that humans were ever able to hear? How on earth did they survive?

“Jaskier.” He rolled the word around on his tongue, testing how it felt in this new mouth of his. It came out soft and melodious, nothing at all like his usual rough growl. Had that also been caused by his years on the Path? Or had his screams during the Trials shredded his vocal cords long before that? 

So many forks in the road, so many points in time that had all led him to being the Witcher he was today...or was yesterday. Just how many of those moments had been wiped away overnight?

“How on earth did this happen?” Jaskier asked as he cautiously sat down on the bed, his voice so painfully gentle that Geralt felt it like a punch to the gut.

“That fucking sorcerer,” he replied dully, the realisation settling as a heavy weight inside his chest. “He must have done this.”

“But why?” 

“Because sorcerers are craven idiots who think they can toy with people’s lives like they mean nothing.” Geralt fisted his hands by his side, feeling nails dig sharply into palms no longer protected by hard-earned calluses. The man’s last words to him rang in his ears -  _ I give you that which you desire but do not yet acknowledge  _ \- and he growled in fury. How  _ dare _ he, how dare he think to presume that Geralt would ever willingly give up being a Witcher? “I’m going to fucking kill the bastard.”

He surged up off the bed, fully intending on storming back to that pox-ridden apothecary and terrifying the weasel into reversing whatever fuckery this was. Jaskier’s songs had obviously been working a bit too well in cleaning up his image; clearly he needed to give a reminder of just how fearsome Witchers could be when necessary.

He took a single step forward and the room abruptly tilted and whirled around him, his brain not yet calibrated to this strange new body. 

“Woah, woah, easy.” A surprisingly strong hand caught his elbow as he pitched forwards, hauling him back upright and away from the rapidly approaching floor. Geralt blinked as the world slowly righted itself, his stomach settling back in his belly rather than his throat.

“I’m okay,” he muttered, stepping out of Jaskier’s grasp once he was sure he wasn’t about to topple over again. 

“Of course you are,” Jaskier agreed readily, holding his hands up placatingly, and Geralt realised with an uncomfortable start that he now had to tilt his head upwards to meet the bard’s gaze.

“You’re tall,” he said slowly, brain struggling to catch up with this particular turn of events.

Jaskier laughed lightly. “Always have been, dear Witcher, but thank you for finally noticing.”

“You’re taller than me.” Geralt found himself rather unhappy about this fact. Granted, Jaskier only had an inch or two on him, but it was the principle of the thing.

“I’m taller than most folk,” Jaskier admitted with a small shrug, grinning at Geralt’s raised eyebrow in response. “A fact very few people realise because everyone looks small standing next to a Witcher now don’t they?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied noncommittally, but instead of his usual low grumble it came out light and questioning, making Jaskier clap his hands together delightedly. 

“Oh that is  _ adorable _ ,” he exclaimed, before backtracking rapidly in the face of Geralt’s darkening scowl. “I mean, not adorable at all. Menacing. Absolutely terrifying.”

Geralt swallowed his next disapproving hum, not wanting to give Jaskier any more material to work with, and sighed heavily instead. “Come on, let’s go find this sorcerer fucker and get him to undo this nonsense.”

* * *

The short walk across town to the apothecary felt like one of the longest of Geralt’s life. He moved so  _ slowly _ now, it felt like he was wading through a particularly sticky bog. 

Jaskier strolled next to him, chattering a steady stream of nonsense like he usually did, but even Geralt’s dulled senses couldn’t miss the concerned glances the bard kept shooting at him. 

Geralt for his part staunchly ignored the attention, focussing on cataloguing the many differences in his form that he now needed to accommodate. He was so engrossed in his task that it took him a moment to notice when Jaskier tailed off into silence. 

“Um. Are you sure this is the right place?” Jaskier asked hesitantly, and Geralt looked up sharply to see that they were in front of the apothecary. Or at least what used to be it.

The door was propped open, and even from outside it was immediately obvious that the shop had been completely emptied. The shelves that previously had been lined with bottles were bare, the small tables that used to hold larger items nowhere to be seen. Most importantly, there was no sorcerer waiting for them behind the counter.

Geralt slowly took a step inside, ignoring Jaskier’s quiet yelp of protest. He didn’t need to be a Witcher to know that there wasn’t even a trace of magic left in this building. Gone, it was all gone, and with it his ability to undo whatever had been done to him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word vibrating through the empty room. It didn’t even sound like him; a mocking echo of a future that should have died the day he stepped through the gates of Kaer Morhen.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed louder, all the rage and frustration he’d been desperately trying to keep in check suddenly bursting out of him. He flung himself across the room, tearing wooden shelves off the wall and smashing them into pieces against the floor. He heaved at the counter, tipping it onto its side with a heavy thud. He put his fist through a glass cabinet, unhearing as Jaskier cried out in horror behind him.

“Geralt, Geralt stop!” Strong arms enveloped him, pinning his own at his side as Jaskier hauled him away from the carnage he’d wrought.

Geralt snarled and thrashed in Jaskier’s grasp, finding to his horror that he couldn’t break out of the embrace. “Get off me!” he exclaimed in fury and panic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been overpowered by a human, rendered immobile and vulnerable.

“Not until you stop hurting yourself,” Jaskier replied firmly, holding on tighter as Geralt writhed in his grip. “Please, I’m begging you,  _ calm down _ .”

Decades of training finally kicked in, and Geralt ducked and spun, using the sudden momentum to break out of Jaskier’s grasp. He whirled around to face Jaskier, his hands coming up in front of him as he crouched into a defensive stance. 

Jaskier took a hurried step backwards. “I’m on your side, I swear,” he said, voice low and steady like he was addressing a cornered animal. “But you’re injured, Geralt. Look.”

Geralt blinked slowly, Jaskier’s words making him suddenly aware of a sharp throbbing pain emanating from his right arm. He looked down to see blood pooling on the floor, dripping from a number of razor sharp cuts across his hand and forearm. One of them had a large shard of glass embedded in it, and he tugged it out with a sharp hiss.

“It’s nothing. It’ll heal,” he grunted, dropping the glass on the floor and warily turning his attention back to Jaskier.

“You don’t know that,” Jaskier replied, sounding pained. “Human bodies don’t heal like Witchers do, remember, and right now you’re looking awfully human.” He took a slow, cautious step towards Geralt. “Just let me make sure you didn’t hit anything important, please?”

Geralt frowned, but the throbbing in his arm was getting harder to ignore, and he reluctantly held it out towards Jaskier as the bard took another step forward. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, sounding genuinely relieved as he took Geralt’s hand with delicate fingers. “Gods, darling, you have to be  _ careful _ while you’re like this.” He gently prodded the skin around a deep gash on the back of Geralt’s hand, apologising softly when Geralt hissed in pain. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He released Geralt’s hand just long enough to tear a strip of fabric off the bottom of his shirt and wrap it tightly around Geralt’s hand and wrist. “There, that should hold until we get back to the inn and I can patch you up properly.”

“Your clothes,” Geralt said dumbly, fixing his attention on the ragged edge of Jaskier’s garment so he could avoid thinking about how gods-damn  _ fragile _ he apparently now was.

Jaskier simply gave a small chuckle and pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s bandaged palm. “Not the first chemise I’ve sacrificed for you, my love, and surely not the last.” He grinned slyly at Geralt. “Although I will admit, I prefer losing them to the bedroom than to your blood.”

Geralt couldn’t help his snort of surprised laughter, and the smile he got from Jaskier in response went a long way to lessening some of the tension that currently gripped his heart. He gave a heavy sigh, all the fight suddenly drained from him. “There’s clearly nothing here for us. Let’s go back to the inn.”

“Back to the inn,” Jaskier agreed warmly, guiding Geralt out of the shop with a surprisingly firm hand splayed across his lower back. “And then we’ll come up with a new plan of attack.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I had this chapter finished by Friday but then AO3 emails went down and I'm too much of a sucker for comments to post when people might not get notified about a new chapter!

They headed straight up to their room as soon as they returned to the inn, Jaskier immediately sitting Geralt down on the bed while he flitted around collecting supplies.

“Here, bite down on this,” he instructed, handing Geralt a thick leather strap from one of their packs.

Geralt raised a skeptical eyebrow at the offered instrument. “This is far from the worst thing you’ve stitched me up over.”

“We’re still working under the assumption that you’re now human, remember, which means waving goodbye to all that impressive Witchery tolerance for pain you usually have.” Jaskier thrust the leather at Geralt again. “Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Geralt scowled, disliking the implication of weakness, but Jaskier clearly wasn’t about to back down so he took the strap and placed it between his teeth. “Just get on with it,” he mumbled around the bit, sticking his injured hand out towards Jaskier.

“Gods be good, you really are adorable like this aren’t you,” Jaskier muttered absently as he unwrapped the makeshift bandages around Geralt’s hand. Geralt was about to argue, profusely, at being labeled  _ adorable _ , but Jaskier chose that moment to pour cleansing alcohol over the large cut on the back of his hand. 

“ _ Nnngh _ ,” he exclaimed roughly, clenching down hard on the leather between his teeth.  _ Fuck _ that hurt. Did it usually hurt this much? 

“I know, I know,” Jaskier soothed, picking up his needle and thread and pouring more alcohol over the metal tip. “I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.”

True to his word Jaskier was quick and efficient, stitching up the worst of Geralt’s cuts with practiced ease. Even with that, it took all of Geralt’s willpower to keep still, every fibre of his being screaming at him to pull his hand away from the unrelenting, unyielding pain. 

Jaskier kept up a steady stream of chatter as he worked, recalling previous contracts Geralt had taken, other injuries they’d both sustained as a result. Every so often he asked Geralt a question, prompting a strained, hissed answer in response. Nothing complicated, just enough to keep Geralt focussed and present. 

“There, all done,” he finally announced, wrapping Geralt’s hand in proper bandages and pressing a light kiss to the knot as he tied the fabric off. 

“Melitele’s tits, that was awful,” Geralt grumbled, reasonably sure he could still feel every place the needle had stabbed him.

“Now you know how the rest of us poor sods feel,” Jaskier said with a soft chuckle, patting Geralt’s knee fondly. 

“No wonder you complain so much when you get hurt,” Geralt said absently as he carefully flexed his hand, testing the give of the bandages.

“I resent that,” Jaskier replied, hands on his hips in mock outrage. “You barely get a peep from me nowadays.”

It was true, Geralt had to admit. For all that Jaskier barely ever stopped talking, he handled injury with better grace than most. 

He was suddenly ashamed of all the times he’d silently judged Jaskier for his whining after getting banged up while accompanying Geralt on one hunt or another. Of course he knew in the abstract that humans felt pain more keenly than he did as a Witcher, but it had been so long since he’d actually felt it himself, he’d practically forgotten.

“I’ll be gentler next time,” Geralt muttered quietly to his knees, not entirely sure if he was promising Jaskier or himself. “Next time you’re hurt, I’ll be better.”

Firm fingers pressed underneath his chin, forcing him to look up and meet Jaskier’s warm gaze. “You always look after me plenty, darling,” Jaskier promised, leaning in to place a quick kiss to Geralt’s lips. 

It was just the lightest of touches, but it sent an unexpected frisson of pleasure down Geralt’s spine. Another sensation that felt so much  _ more _ in this body, apparently. He couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped him as Jaskier drew away, feeling heat flush his cheeks as the other man chuckled at his eager response.

“Now that you’re back in one piece,” Jaskier said with a firm pat to Geralt’s leg, voice all business again, “we need to work out how to get you back to your big growly self.”

Geralt sighed, rubbing his face with his uninjured hand. “The sorcerer - he disappeared through a portal the last time I saw him. He probably did the same thing after he cleared up shop.”

“Can you do your tracking thing to work out where he went?” Jaskier asked, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. 

“No Witcher senses,” Geralt reminded him. “I’m practically deaf and blind right now.”

“Oh yeah, right, of course.” Jaskier looked faintly embarrassed at forgetting something so obvious. The two of them lapsed into silence as they pondered their next move.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing for it. We’re going to have to bring in the big guns,” Jaskier finally said, slapping his thigh as he stood up. He strode with purpose over towards their packs and started rummaging through them, muttering quietly to himself as he did so.

“What are you...oh no, definitely not,” Geralt growled as Jaskier straightened with a familiar box in his hand. 

“We don’t exactly have a lot of options here, love,” Jaskier replied as he opened the box and pulled out the Xenovox that the two of them had sworn they would only use if they found themselves in truly dire straits. “We’re going to need the help of another sorcerer if we want to fix this quickly.”

“But does it have to be her?” Geralt grumbled, mostly on principle. As bad as it would be for Yennefer to see him like this, he could admit that it would be a hundred times worse for a stranger to see him this vulnerable.

Jaskier rightly ignored Geralt’s half-hearted protests, tapping the stone to make it hum. “Yennefer, dearest, we’re in a bit of a pickle,” Jaskier spoke into the Xenovox with exaggerated cheer. “Can you whip us up one of those lovely portals of yours so we can chat?”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough for Geralt to wonder if Yennefer was intentionally ignoring them, then the air in the room vibrated and a glowing portal materialised along the far wall.

“This better be good,” Yennefer’s dry voice echoed from the other side of the portal. “Cirilla and I were just about to start training.”

“Oh I promise you, you’re going to  _ love _ this one,” Jaskier replied with an eyebrow wiggle that made Geralt somewhat nervous about the two of them collaborating on this. “We’ll be right through.”

“What about Roach?” Geralt asked. He didn’t trust this inn enough - didn’t trust this town in general - to leave her unattended here for any extended period of time.

“I’ll portal through a stablehand to collect her later,” Yennefer offered. Geralt could practically hear her rolling her eyes at (in her opinion at least) his over-attachment to his horse.

Geralt sighed, out of objections and resigning himself to his fate as he stalked over to their packs. He flung them one by one through the portal, ignoring Jaskier’s scolding for being so careless with their belongings. Once all their incidentals had been transported he reached for his two swords in their combined sheath, swinging them onto his back in a smooth movement that was as natural to him as breathing.

The heavy weight across his back was so much  _ greater _ than he had been anticipating, so sudden and unexpected, that he staggered three steps to the side and almost collided with the nearest wall before he was able to correct his posture and steady himself.

“Mother-fucking pox-ridden son of a banshee,” he growled, face flaming hot with embarrassment.

“Do you need a hand with those?” Jaskier asked, his voice vibrating with barely suppressed mirth. Geralt glared at the bard, who promptly devolved into peals of cackling laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not funny, really.”

“It looks like you’re finding it fucking funny,” Geralt fumed, leaning forwards and rolling his shoulders to try and make the weight sit better across his back. 

The setup felt so ridiculously large on his newly-slender frame, twin pommels towering far above the crown of his head, sword-tips smacking against the backs of his thighs as he straightened. He felt awkward and ungainly, like the slightest of wrong moves would send him crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of steel and leather. He hated it, hated feeling so gods-damned off balance in his own body.

“If you two are quite done over there,” Yennefer’s voice floated through the portal again. “These things don’t hold themselves open, you know.”

Geralt gave a heavy sigh, looking at Jaskier who was once again looking deadly serious. 

“It’ll be okay, we’ll fix this,” Jaskier promised, taking a step closer towards Geralt and resting his hand lightly on his shoulder. “I promise you, we’ll fix this.”

Geralt sighed again, wishing he had even a small amount of Jaskier’s seemingly unending optimism. But he’d spent too many years in this world, seen the worst that it had to offer time and time again. He knew that people rarely - if ever - got what they wanted.

_ I give you that which you desire but do not yet acknowledge _ , an insidious voice whispered in his ear and he growled viciously under his breath. No, that idiot sorcerer knew  _ nothing _ about him, let alone what he desired in life. He was going to find a cure for this, no matter what, and then he was going to wring the old man’s scrawny neck with his truly  _ desired _ Witcher hands.

“Fuck it, let's do this,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders and marching through the portal with his jaw set and his head held high.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much everyone for all your lovely comments! I haven't had a chance to go through and reply to everyone but I promise you I read (and reread) and treasure every single one!

The world squeezed and contracted, and promptly spat Geralt out on the other side of the portal, right into an ornately decorated receiving room. 

“You’re new.”

Geralt looked up to see Yennefer reclining on a plush sofa, her posture artfully casual despite the amount of effort he knew it took to keep portals open for any amount of time. “Geralt and Jaskier pick up a toy on their travels did they?” 

He scowled at the implication, but before he could correct her Jaskier followed him through the portal, signalling to Yennefer that she could close it behind them. 

Yennefer snapped her hand closed, and the portal with it, before standing up and crossing the room with a predatory gleam in her eyes. 

“No Geralt today? Don’t tell me you traded him in for a younger model,” she said to Jaskier with a sharp laugh. “Or is this delightful young buck a present for me?” She got just close enough to reach out and cup Geralt’s face with her hand. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

“Fuck off, Yen,” Geralt snapped, stepping sharply away from her touch with a dark scowl. 

Yennefer frowned, confusion flicking across her beautiful features for just a moment before realisation struck. “Geralt?!”

“It seems our dear Witcher had a bit of an unfortunate run in with a sorcerer in Mulbrydale,” Jaskier explained, not quite managing to keep the amusement out of his voice, “And now he’s somewhat...shrunk.”

“I’ll shrink you if you’re not careful,” Geralt warned, cheeks flushing with heat under their combined stares.

“That doesn’t make any sense and you know it.” 

A wash of magic ran over him and he yelped, turning angrily back towards Yennefer. “You know I hate it when you do that without warning.”

“Oh shush,” Yennefer replied dismissively, her hand moving in complex patterns in front of Geralt. “If you want me to help I need to know what I’m working with.”

Geralt growled - trying not to dwell on how much less intimidating the noise sounded coming from him now - but let Yennefer do her thing. He _did_ need her help after all.

“Hmm,” Yennefer said eventually, snapping her fingers and dismissing the magic in the air. “Interesting.”

“Oh please, be _more_ cryptic why don’t you?” Geralt huffed, crossing his arms with a scowl.

Yennefer honest-to-gods giggled at his reaction, returning to her couch with a satisfied smirk. “You really are sweet like this.” She addressed her next question to Jaskier, “Sure you don’t want to keep him?”

“Yennefer,” Geralt growled again, and this time he managed to sound at least a little like his normal self. He _really_ wasn’t in the mood for games. 

“Fine, fine, you’re no fun today.” Yennefer gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good,” Jaskier said at the same time as Geralt replied “Bad.”

“Come on Geralt, where’s that endless optimism of yours?” Jaskier teased, turning towards Yennefer and firmly repeating, “Good news first, always.”

“The good news is that it’s definitely reversible.”

Geralt let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He’d been reasonably sure he wasn’t going to have to spend the rest of his life like this, but the confirmation was undeniably good to hear.

“Well that’s a relief,” Jaskier said when it became clear Geralt wasn’t going to respond with anything else. “And of course this is the part where you tell us there is no bad news and you’ll be able to fix this with a snap of those wonderfully magical fingers of yours...”

Yennefer’s expression shuttered, lips not even twitching at Jaskier’s banter. If Geralt didn’t know any better he would have sworn there was something akin to genuine concern there.

“There are two ways this goes. Option one, I throw enough raw magic at the enchantment to destroy it. It’s a bit like using a mace to kill a spider, but it’ll do the job.” She paused, pressing her lips together into a thin, unhappy line. “Doing it this way, though, will be like turning you into a newly formed Witcher all over again, which means-”

“The Trials,” Geralt interrupted, feeling ice cold dread rush through him. There were very few things in this life that filled him with fear nowadays, but memories of his time as a boy in Kaer Morhen were right at the top of that list. “It would be like going through the Trials again.”

Could he do it? Could he put himself through that again, this time with the knowledge of exactly how much torture was in store for him? Would he even survive it? There was a reason boys went through the Trials at such a young age; their bodies more malleable, more likely to survive being torn apart and put back together again.

A soft hand on his shoulder, and Geralt dragged himself out of the darkness, anchoring himself in Jaskier’s warm gaze instead. The other man had dipped his head so that they were at eye level - fuck but this new height difference was going to take some getting used to - and his eyes were filled with such unguarded fondness that Geralt couldn’t help leaning into his touch. 

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of that idea either,” Jaskier said, voice soft and gentle and only for Geralt’s ears. He waited until Geralt nodded, just a small jerk of his head, before raising his voice and calling over to Yennefer again. “How about that second option, eh?”

“We find the sorcerer who did this, and politely suggest he undoes what he did in the first place.” Geralt slowly tore his gaze away from Jaskier to look at Yennefer, whose expression suggested that she would be anything other than _polite_ in her request. 

That knowledge in itself was enough for Geralt to shake off the last of the cobwebs of his past. For all their sniping and teasing, he knew that deep down Yennefer was fiercely protective of him, and he of her. If she thought that fixing this issue at the source was a viable option, then he had to trust her. “How long would finding him take?” he asked, voice quiet but thankfully steady.

“It’ll be easy enough to get a sample of his magical signature; it’s all over you. Actually tracing him with it is a bit more complicated, but it’s more time consuming than anything.” She tapped her finger against her lower lip, clearly doing some quick calculations in her head. “Give me a month and I’ll have him for you.”

A month. A full month stuck like this. Geralt cocked his head to the side as he considered. Could he last that long in this body? Would it be worth it to avoid the pain of the Trials again?

Was it cowardice that it didn’t feel like a difficult decision, not when put like that?

“Might be nice to stay here for a bit, yeah?” Jaskier said softly, like he thought Geralt might still need convincing. “Spend some time with Ciri? I’m sure she’s missed you.”

_Ciri_. 

Oh gods, Geralt had almost forgotten that Ciri was staying with Yennefer for the summer. How on earth would she react to seeing him like this? How would _he_ react to her seeing him like this?

He’d always been Ciri’s saviour, her protector. He still felt that way about the girl even now, when she was all grown up and people were far more likely to need protecting from _her_ . A shudder went through him at the thought of her seeing him so weak, so small, so _defenseless_. 

Fortunately - or unfortunately depending on how one looked at it - Geralt was saved from following that particular rabbit too far down its hole by Ciri choosing that exact moment to join them, as if the fates themselves had summoned her.

At nineteen years old it was undeniable that Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon had inherited her Grandmother’s ruthlessness along with her Mother’s beauty. As she sauntered into the room, clothes and hair sweaty from training, body practically vibrating with barely restrained energy, Geralt was forcefully reminded of the first time he met Calanthe all those years ago.

“Jaskier,” Ciri nodded in greeting at the bard, seemingly unperturbed by his sudden appearance. Geralt supposed living with a sorceress who could conjure up portals at will would do that to a person. 

“Ciri,” Jaskier replied warmly as Ciri leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Yennefer on the cheek.

“What happened to you, Yen? I thought we were going to practice summoning this afternoon.” Ciri looked up without waiting for Yennefer to respond, raising an eyebrow at Geralt. “Don’t tell me you blew me off for a _man_ of all things?” 

She paused, chewing her lower lip contemplatively. “He’s certainly cute though, so maybe I’ll forgive you just this once.”

A beat of silence was felt around the room as Geralt’s brain tried and failed to process that latest comment. Jaskier was surprisingly quick to recover, letting out a pained grunt, and Yennefer’s expression looked like she was torn between amusement and horror as she patted the back of Ciri’s hand.

“Oh no girl, you stop that train of thought right there,” Yennefer said. “That’s Geralt over there, courtesy of a bad run-in with a sorcerer.”

Ciri blinked once, twice, then color rushed her cheeks and she slapped her hands over her eyes with a groan. “Oh... _Oh fuck_.”

“You sound just like Geralt when you swear,” Jaskier teased, and Ciri groaned again unhappily. Geralt for his part just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

“Oh gods, kill me now.” Ciri peeked a quick look between her fingers at Yennefer. “I don’t suppose you can spell those last two minutes out of my brain can you?”

“Mine as well,” Geralt replied dryly. “It’s bad enough thinking of you being of courting age as it is.”

“Courting age, he says like I didn’t grow up in Kaer Morhen surrounded by Witchers,” Ciri uncovered her eyes to glare lightheartedly at him as she crossed the room to give him a fierce hug. “I’m hardly a blushing maiden who needs to be gently courted now am I?”

Geralt hugged her back just as tightly, his arms wrapping around her waist but not going nearly as far as they should. 

He’d intended to spend some time travelling with Ciri last autumn, but there had been a contract he couldn’t turn down, and then a village in peril, and then the roads had been blocked by flooding and it made more sense to turn towards Kaer Morhen for the winter...

Such was the way of the Witcher, he supposed. There was a reason Vesemir had always taught his boys that their duty was to The Path and no one else. But after all these years with Jaskier and Ciri (and even Yennefer on occasion), Geralt knew there was no ignoring these pesky feelings that had a habit of cropping up at the most inopportune moments.

He felt dampness on his eyelashes, and he quickly stepped out of Ciri’s embrace, blinking furiously to try and clear his vision. The myth that Witchers were incapable of crying was just that - a myth - but it had been  _ decades _ since he’d last been reduced to tears, and now here he was, weeping over a happy reunion of all things. 

First his outburst at the apothecary, and now this. He couldn’t understand why his emotions kept getting the better of him. Was this yet another gift from that asshole sorcerer? Or was this simply what it was  _ like _ to be human? 

Either way, he hated it.

“Speaking of courting,” Jaskier cut in, expertly deflecting the conversation away from Geralt’s minor breakdown. “What happened to that nice soldier lad of yours?” 

Ciri frowned as Geralt hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand but - smart girl that she was - chose not to comment. “Reassigned to a regiment further west,” she replied with a shrug, moving to sit next to Yen. “Just as well, really, he was getting a touch boring.”

“As long as he didn’t hurt you,” Geralt harrumphed, finally getting a hold of himself enough to glare at the room at large. “Or he’d have me to contend with.”

“Usually I’d complain about you scaring away my fun, but right now you’re not quite as intimidating as you usually are,” Ciri pointed out, the last vestiges of awkwardness dissipating from the air. “Gods Geralt, who did you piss off this time?”

“Nobody.” Geralt put his hands up in protest as Ciri raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Truly. I thought I was trading Selkie blood for potions ingredients. Apparently I agreed to a different form of payment altogether.”

Yennefer sighed, rubbing at her temples with exaggerated weariness. “I really thought I taught you better than this Geralt.”

“You and me both,” Jaskier chipped in unhelpfully.

“Yes, well, I learnt my lesson didn’t I?” Geralt scowled, crossing his arms indignantly in front of him. 

Ciri rolled her eyes but thankfully didn’t join the others in their teasing. “So are you staying here while Aunt Yen fixes you?” Her voice was casual, but even without his enhanced senses Geralt could tell how much she was hoping the answer was yes. 

If his decision hadn’t already been made, that would have cinched it. Geralt knew he was incapable of denying Ciri anything in this life; it was one of the few areas in which he didn’t mind being powerless, Witcher or not. 

“Yennefer thinks she needs a month to track down the sorcerer who did this,” he said by way of answering Ciri’s question, not trusting his newly-fragile emotions with anything other than the facts right now.

Ciri smiled warmly at his response, understanding the obvious even if it had been left unsaid. “I’m glad, it’s been a while since I had a decent sparring partner.” 

A grandfather clock chimed loudly in the corner of the room, startling everyone except Yennefer. Ciri, Geralt and Jaskier shared a stunned look, before collectively bursting into laughter.

“Some ferocious monster hunters we are,” Ciri chuckled as she caught her breath. “Surprised by a couple of musical notes.”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve never claimed to be anything other than completely unobservant,” Jaskier replied. 

“That is true,” Geralt agreed, his mirth more reserved than the other two but no less keenly felt as the sheer ridiculousness of the whole situation finally caught up with him. “Last week Roach managed to sneak up on him. He didn’t even notice she was there until she bit his arse.”

“I maintain that horse is some sort of eldritch being, it’s the only explanation for how quiet she can be when she wants to be.”

“Entertaining as stories of Jaskier’s ineptitude are,” Yennefer interrupted, her voice dry even as her eyes twinkled with humour. “That bell means supper will be ready in an hour.” She made a point of slowly looking Jaskier up and down. “I assume you’ll want to change into something more…appropriate before then.”

Jaskier made a strangled noise of objection, opening his mouth to respond with something no doubt equally scathing, but Ciri quickly cut in over him.

  
  


“Excellent, I’m starving,” she interjected before the conversation had a chance to devolve into one of Jaskier and Yennefer’s infamous bickering sessions. She linked her arm through Geralt’s and started to walk him purposefully towards the door, slotting her other arm through Jaskier’s as they went past and dragging him along too. 

“Come on,” she said brightly, ignoring the bard’s surprised yelp as he almost tripped over his own feet trying to keep up. “Let’s find you both a room to get set up in.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some smuuuuuut! Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

Yennefer’s estate in Toussaint was exactly as extravagant as one would expect from the Sorceress. No matter how many times Geralt visited he never failed to be amused and slightly horrified at the sheer opulence that dripped from the walls of the sprawling manor house. 

It was about as different to Kaer Morhen as it was possible to get, and part of him wondered if it had been as much of a shock for Ciri as it was for him. Then again, Ciri  _ was _ the Crown Princess of two kingdoms, and had no doubt grown up surrounded by equally grandiose splendour. He snuck a glance at Jaskier next to him who looked completely unfazed, and was reminded that his partner was also technically nobility.

Perhaps it was just him then, the uncultured Witcher unused to such finery. Honestly, though. She was a household of one, how could she possibly have use for this many rooms? Where did those peacocks even  _ come _ from?

Ciri poked her head through a few doors before finding a room that was made up for guests. “This one will do,” she said with a nod. “Do you know where you’re heading for supper?”

“I might be human now, but I’m sure I’m still perfectly able to navigate a few corridors,” Geralt replied, ruffling Ciri’s hair as he walked past. He found he had to actually lift his hand to reach, which was a revelation he decided not to look too closely at. 

“I’ll just follow him, because I certainly have no idea,” Jaskier added amiably as he dropped their packs by the unlit fireplace before flopping on the great four-poster bed that filled the room. “Sweet Melitele, it’s been  _ far _ too long since I slept anywhere with a decent mattress.”

“I’m not the one who got us kicked out of every decent establishment from here to the Great Sea,” Geralt replied, giving an exaggerated eye roll and making Ciri giggle.

“Every single one? That’s quite impressive,” Ciri said as Jaskier sat up with one hand clutched to his heart and the other on his forehead.

“Lies. Lies and slander! Why must you insist on sullying my good name?”

“What good name would that be?” Geralt deadpanned, making Ciri laugh again.

“I’ll leave you two to get settled. Try not to kill one another before supper, okay?” she said with a wink, closing the door behind her with a click.

Jaskier straightened, quirking a mischievous eyebrow, and Geralt chuckled at the abrupt shift as he went to start organising their belongings.

“Nice rooms,” Jaskier commented, bouncing lightly on the mattress. “One of these days Yennefer is going to have to admit she actually likes us.”

“Admit she likes  _ you _ , you mean,” Geralt corrected. “I was forever in her good books the day I introduced her to Ciri.”

“Oh shush,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave. “Same difference.”

“Hmm.”

There was a beat of silence before Jaskier slid off the mattress, giving an exaggerated sigh as he slunk his way across the room towards Geralt.

“You know, I find myself faced with something of a conundrum,” he said, sounding contemplative. “Usually when I’m as...  _ aroused _ as I am right now, that Witcher nose of yours has already picked up on the fact and I’m already most of the way to being thoroughly ravaged.”

Geralt snapped upright from where he had been crouched rummaging through their packs, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline in surprise. “You...what?”

“You heard me,” Jaskier replied, stopping a hair’s breadth in front of Geralt, eyes dark with familiar purpose.

Geralt swallowed hard, thoroughly unprepared for this turn of events. It was true that this particular look on Jaskier was usually accompanied by the sweet smell of lust rolling off him in waves, but that didn’t make much sense given Geralt’s current state.

“You want me? Like this?” Geralt forced himself to clarify, gesturing vaguely to his body, slender and fragile and so unlike his usual form.

“Very much so,” Jaskier replied, voice low and seductive. “If you’ll let me.”

And even though Geralt could no longer smell lies, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the bard was being absolutely truthful. And wasn’t that something of a revelation?

“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask. He’d heard Jaskier wax lyrical - in private but also regrettably often in public - about his impressive Witcher physique. This new body of his was about as different from that as it was possible to get.

“Why?” Jaskier sounded torn between confused and entertained. “What sort of a question is that?” 

“I’m practically a twig. You’d probably break me if you went too hard.”

Jaskier’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in predatory anticipation. “Is that a challenge?” he asked and  _ oh _ , that triggered something unexpected deep in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. 

Jaskier took another step forward, his arms lightly encircling Geralt’s waist as he dropped his head to press a line of open mouthed kisses along Geralt’s neck. “If you don’t want to, if it would make you uncomfortable, we can stop and I won’t mention it again while you’re like this.” Geralt could feel the hard line of Jaskier’s cock against his thigh, and he couldn’t help the throaty whine that escaped him. He felt Jaskier smile against his skin, pausing for a moment before resuming his trail of affection. “But If you do want to...I promise you I’m  _ very _ interested in discovering what makes this new body of yours tick.”

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt breathed, hips twitching forward to seek out friction against his own rapidly thickening cock. 

“Is that a yes?” 

Geralt could hear the teasing in Jaskier’s voice. “Fuck,  _ yes, _ ” he growled impatiently. 

“Thank you, my love,” Jaskier murmured, moving to nip at Geralt’s smooth jaw, inching closer and closer to his lips with every word. “Now let me take you to bed and take you apart like you so deserve.”

The next moment firm hands clasped at his buttocks and Geralt felt himself being bodily lifted off the ground. He yelped in surprise, arms wrapping around Jaskier’s neck and legs wrapping around his waist to steady himself as the bard picked him up and proceeded to walk them back towards the bed.

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” he exclaimed, thoroughly torn between shock and exhilaration. It had been a long time since somebody had picked him up, probably not since he was a boy in Kaer Morhen, roughhousing with the other trainees and arguing over who was strongest.

He couldn’t remember a time he’d  _ ever _ been carried with such care and affection as this. Gods, he could barely remember his mother even  _ touching _ him as a child. Before she abandoned him to the wolves.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Jaskier’s neck and roughly claimed Jaskier’s mouth in a bruising kiss, shoving the past back into the recesses of his brain where it belonged. Those memories had no power over him, not any more. Not when his lover held him steady and kissed back with equal fervor.

He ran out of air much faster than he’d been expecting - curse these human lungs - and broke away panting heavily. Jaskier’s pupils were blown wide, barely a sliver of cornflower blue visible as he stared at Geralt hungrily.

“Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier breathed, the words ghosting over Geralt’s face and making him shiver. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Geralt whined and answered by kissing Jaskier again. Jaskier hummed happily against his lips, fingers tightening in the plump flesh of his ass, and Geralt felt like he might actually float away if Jaskier let go.

He heard a soft  _ oof _ as Jaskier’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and they both tumbled down onto the mattress. Geralt’s back hit the soft sheets as Jaskier followed him down, ending up chest to chest with Jaskier’s arms bracketing Geralt’s face.

For a moment there was silence, both men panting heavily as they stared at once another. Jaskier looked like he wanted to eat Geralt whole, and Geralt felt heat rush down his spine at being so surrounded.

“You’re stronger than you look, bard,” he whispered, a half-hearted attempt to ease the anticipation that was building between their heated bodies.

Jaskier chuckled lowly, dropping his head to press a soft, chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips. “It’s the doublets, the cut is awfully slimming. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m usually standing next to a Witcher in all his muscled glory.”

“Definitely the doublets,” Geralt replied in-between kisses. “Those Witcher muscles have nothing on yours.” He reached up and squeezed at Jaskier’s bicep, a thrill rushing through him at how firm it felt under his fingertips, how small his hand looked in comparison.

He’d never felt so physically vulnerable before, inside the bedroom or out. There was something incredibly heady in the idea of being at Jaskier’s mercy, only being able to move if Jaskier allowed it.

As if he’d read Geralt’s mind, Jaskier bent his arms to close the slender gap between them. Geralt felt his weight settle evenly on top of him, and keened softly in the back of his throat as Jaskier started to slowly rock their bodies together.

“Jas-” he started, but was cut off when Jaskier claimed his mouth once more, and then it was easier to lose himself in the feel of his lover blanketing him from head to toe. 

Jaskier started slowly, his hips thrusting almost lazily as he rubbed their clothed cocks together. Geralt whimpered into the kiss as sparks of pleasure fluttered through his body. He didn’t know whether pleasure simply felt  _ more _ as a human, or whether it was because Jaskier was so thoroughly surrounding him, but he felt like he could quite happily drown in the bard’s essence if given half a chance.

Bit by bit, Jaskier increased the pace of their grinding, their kisses turning heated and sloppy as the urgency built between them. Geralt felt like his veins were on fire, like he was burning up underneath all the layers - too many fucking layers - that seperated his body and Jaskier’s.

“Please,  _ please _ ,” he found himself begging between kisses, unsure exactly of what he needed but feeling like he might actually die if he didn’t get it.

“Shhh darling, I’ve got you,” Jaskier promised, hand sneaking between them to shove Geralt’s shirt up and tug open the laces of his hose. Geralt hurried to reciprocate, cursing Jaskier’s more complex attire as he fumbled with buttons and clasps until finally his hand wrapped around Jaskier’s thick cock.

Jaskier groaned, dropping to rest his forehead against Geralt’s as his hand found its own target. Geralt felt the air punch out of his lungs as long, dextrous fingers encircled his cock, skin cool against his heated length.

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ Jaskier,” he gasped, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed as he arched into the contact. It was so much, almost too much, and Jaskier hadn’t even started moving yet.

“That’s it, just let yourself feel it,” Jaskier whispered, starting to mouth kisses along Geralt’s jawline as his hand finally started to stroke Geralt’s length. Geralt groaned and tried to match Jaskier’s pace with his own hand, feeling crude and clumsy compared to Jaskier’s skilled artistry.

Jaskier quirked his wrist, his palm rubbing against the sensitive head of Geralt’s cock, and Geralt saw white as his orgasm ripped from him without warning. He cried out, back arching up off the bed as his release erupted between them, heart hammering so fast he feared it might explode. A sharp gasp and he felt Jaskier’s cock pulse in his hand, followed by more wet heat between them as Jaskier followed him over the edge.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he gasped as he came back down, feeling shaky and boneless in the wake of such an intense rush.

Jaskier panted as he rolled off Geralt, slumping on the mattress with one arm thrown across his eyes. “Yes. That.”

“I...Fuck,” Geralt tried again, brain trying and failing to come up with any words that weren’t curses.

Jaskier chuckled, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his hand. “Did I break you?”

“A little bit,” Geralt admitted, slowly coming down off his high. “That was…fuck, sorry, that was a lot quicker than normal.”

Jaskier laughed again, tracing a finger lazily through their joint spend that had pooled on Geralt’s belly. “I wasn’t exactly much better. Gods, Geralt, but you’re gorgeous when you come.”

Geralt huffed a disbelieving laugh, appreciating the compliment despite knowing it to be a lie. “I suppose I’ll need to get used to this body before I get my old stamina back.”

“And believe me I am  _ more _ than happy to help you practice,” Jaskier replied with an eyebrow wiggle that made Geralt chuckle, then wince as their rapidly cooling come tugged at the hairs on his chest.

Decidedly less hair than before, he couldn’t help but notice. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

“Unfortunately, as much as I would like to suggest we start right away,” Jaskier said with an exaggerated sigh, pulling Geralt out of his rapidly descending train of thought. “I feel like it’s probably courteous for us to bathe before supper.”

Geralt huffed his agreement. Yennefer and Ciri might not have Witcher senses but there’s no way they’d miss the smell of sex on them if they didn’t wash, and he had absolutely no desire to open himself up to that particular brand of teasing, thank you very much. 

“Probably,” he agreed. “Do you want to go first?”

“Really, Geralt,” Jaskier chuckled as he stood up and held out a hand for Geralt to take. “Do you honestly think that any bathtub in Yennefer’s house wouldn’t be able to comfortably fit two grown adults? It’s like you don’t even know the woman.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These past weeks have been...not great (as I imagine a lot of you are also feeling!), and as a result my writing productivity has taken a definite hit. I have enough of a buffer written that I _should_ be able to keep to my posting schedule, but I very much welcome you come shout at me in the comments to write more!

Despite Jaskier’s best attempts at distraction, they only ended up being a few minutes late for supper. 

Yennefer raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the pair of them as they took their seats at the ornate dining table, but mercifully didn’t enquire about the reason for their tardiness. (She did take a rather pointed sip of her wine, but Geralt chose not to see that.)

Despite that, dinner was one of the more enjoyable social affairs Geralt had been subjected to in quite a while. The food was delicious - how could it not be with Yennefer in charge? - and conversation flowed easily as Ciri updated Geralt and Jaskier on her training progress, and Jaskier regaled Yennefer and Ciri with some of their more amusing exploits since they last saw one another.

Everybody politely pretended that they were all together for nothing more than a catch-up and not as a result of a wayward curse on Geralt’s person, for which Geralt was infinitely grateful. He was feeling slightly more settled in this new body than when he first woke up, but the whole thing was still uncomfortable and strange and the less said about it the better, quite frankly.

After food they moved into one of the many lounges, where Yennefer brought out some of her fancy elven dessert wine, and Jaskier miraculously produced a bottle of whiskey from gods knows where. Ciri beat Geralt at Gwent four out of seven, then lost five out of nine against Jaskier, and before they all knew it the midnight bells were ringing.

Geralt found himself leaning rather heavily against Jaskier’s side as they made their way back to their rooms, his body feeling leaden with tiredness in a way that usually only happened after an intense fight or too many days meditating rather than sleeping.

Jasker chuckled as Geralt tried and failed to stifle a yawn, his mouth opening so wide his jaw cracked. “It’s hard being one of us mere mortals, isn’t it darling?”

“Is it always like this?” Geralt complained, knowing he sounded like a petulant child but too tired to care.

“Well, humans do tire more quickly than Witchers, that’s for sure. But I imagine your body is also working overtime right now trying to get used to everything that’s changed.” Jaskier turned his head to press a soft kiss into Geralt’s hair. “It’ll get easier.”

“It better,” Geralt grumbled, tailing off into yet another yawn that made Jaskier chuckle.

“Alright sleepyhead, we’re here,” Jaskier said as they arrived back at their rooms. He gently guided Geralt over towards the big bed, and cajoled him into taking off his boots and overclothes when Geralt would have much rather just collapsed face-first onto the oh-so-inviting mattress.

He just about managed to strip down to his undershirt before sleep completely claimed him. He was unconscious before his head even hit the pillow.

* * *

He woke the next day with his head buried in Jaskier’s armpit, the other man still sleeping soundly. 

It wasn’t the strangest configuration they’d ever woken up in, but it wasn’t exactly Geralt’s favourite - that would be Jaskier half draped over his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soothing counterpoint to Geralt’s ongoing insecurities about whether the bard  _ truly _ wanted to share his bed or not - and so with a soft kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder he shifted away from the other man’s side and moved to climb out of bed.

Or at least he tried to, because the moment he broke contact Jaskier whined unhappily in his sleep and rolled towards Geralt, one arm coming out to wrap around his waist and drag him back into Jaskier’s embrace.

Geralt let out a soft  _ oof  _ as his back collided with Jaskier’s chest, which made Jaskier hum happily and nuzzle at Geralt’s neck.

“Morning, love,” Jaskier muttered, still three-quarters of the way in sleep. 

“Morning,” Geralt replied, trying not to sound too pleased by the blatant show of affection. It wouldn’t do to encourage the bard after all. “Could you let me go so I can train?”

“No, shan’t,” Jaskier muttered, kissing Geralt’s shoulder blade as his arm tightened around Geralt’s waist. 

It was a fairly common routine at this point, Geralt rising far earlier than Jaskier and Jaskier pouting and trying and failing to stop Geralt from leaving, except this time... 

Something uncomfortable lurched in Geralt’s gut as he strained against Jaskier’s grip and found that he couldn’t break his hold. Jaskier’s arm was firm and solid around his waist, effectively pinning Geralt against him in a way that he couldn’t escape.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, hearing the panic in his own voice but unable to prevent it. “Jaskier let me go.” 

It seemed his urgency was sharp enough to permeate Jaskier’s sleep-muffled brain, because he immediately let go and sat upright, holding both hands up in surrender. 

“What did I do?” Jaskier asked, sounding very confused, and now that Geralt had full control of his movement again he felt very stupid indeed.

“Nothing,” Geralt said, quickly sitting up and turning away from Jaskier so the other man couldn’t see the embarrassment on his face. “It was nothing.”

A soft hand on his shoulder, and Geralt worked hard not to flinch at the unexpected touch. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked, voice soft and pained. “Please tell me what I did so I can make sure I don’t do it again.”

Geralt huffed, staring down at his hands that were fisted in his lap. “It’s foolish,” he admitted, “but you were holding me and...I couldn’t get away.” He chanced a look up at Jaskier, who was looking at him with such concern it made something inside his chest hurt. “I’ve never felt that before, being physically overpowered by something that wasn’t actively trying to kill me. I...I guess I freaked out a little.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, sounding genuinely apologetic even though it was entirely Geralt’s overreaction. “I didn’t think.”

“Like I said, it was foolish,” Geralt insisted, standing up and moving to put on his training gear. 

“It was nothing of the sort,” Jaskier insisted as he sidled up behind Geralt, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and hooking his chin over Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s completely reasonable that you would react badly, especially when being restrained has only ever meant bad things for you.”

“Yes well, I’m going to have to get used to it aren’t I?” Geralt replied slightly more bitterly than he intended. “Since I’m now comfortably the weakest person in this house, and will be for the foreseeable future.”

“Nothing about you could ever be considered weak, no matter what size your biceps are,” Jaskier countered, smiling wryly as Geralt twisted to look incredulously at him. “It’s okay, we’ll work on getting you to believe that one.” 

He unwrapped his arms and took a step backwards, slapping Geralt’s arse cheekily for good measure. “Now, didn’t you say something about training? I for one am  _ very much _ looking forward to seeing this new you get all energetically hot and sweaty.”

Geralt gave an exaggerated sigh as he bent down to pick up his shirt. "You are incorrigible," he stated, not even trying to hide his amusement.

"And that's why you love me," Jaskier sing-songed from the other side of the room.

"Hmmm," Geralt replied, which they both knew meant _ Yes, of course I do. _

* * *

The manor house had a large semi-enclosed area for physical exercise, complete with training dummies, sawdusted floor, and an array of practice weapons. Geralt looked around approvingly as he went through his warm-up stretches - Ciri was clearly taking her sword fighting just as seriously as her sorcery, as well she should.

It was rare on The Path for him to have a live opponent to spar with, so most days he welcomed the sun with drills and footwork. A complacent Witcher was a dead Witcher, but even worse was the thought of the look on Vesemir’s face if he returned to Kaer Morhen having accumulated bad habits. 

He picked up his steel sword, frowning as the weapon that usually felt like an extension of his arm sat heavy and awkward in his grip. His hand was smaller now, fingers more slender, and they wrapped awkwardly around the hefty hilt in a way that made Geralt’s wrist twinge. 

He huffed angrily to himself, bringing the weapon up into a ready stance before launching into one of his simpler foot routines.

He barely got a minute in before his wrist spasmed and his sword found itself buried in the sawdust. 

“Fuck,” he swore at himself, shaking out his arm before picking up his weapon. Back up into the ready position, and start again.

The next time he got most of the way through the first pattern before swinging too low and catching the tip of the sword in the ground, sending him stumbling forwards and almost falling to the ground.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he cursed again, feeling heat flush his cheeks. He felt like a trainee, twelve and tired and  _ still _ not getting the footwork that their teachers drilled into them again and again and again.

“You’re still fighting like you have two-hundred pounds of muscle to back you up.” 

Geralt turned to see Ciri lounging by the training weapons, arms crossed and one foot propped up on the wall behind her. When Geralt simply frowned at her she sighed and plucked two slender longswords off the racks, walking over and holding one out to Geralt hilt-first. 

“Remember what you told me when I was first starting out? Work with your body, not against it.”

“That was different,” Geralt countered even as he sheathed his steel sword and accepted Ciri’s weapon. “You were barely more than a child, and fighting against Witchers three times your size.”

“And now I beat Unkle Eskel half the time, and Uncle Lambert three in four,” Ciri replied calmly. “And right now  _ you _ are far closer to my build than theirs.” She raised her own weapon in a ready stance. “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten everything you taught me?”

Geralt smiled wryly and shook his head as he brought his weapon up in front of him. Did all fathers reach this stage, he wondered, when their children started schooling  _ them _ ?

It took a bit of getting used to, but soon Geralt started to settle into the swing of things with a more suitable sword and patterns that focused on agility over strength. He could tell that Ciri was going  _ incredibly _ easy on him as they parried their way up and down the length of the training grounds, and he tried hard not to feel too bitter about it. Practice was practice, and only those who were weak and insecure refused to admit when they had more to learn.

Plus he couldn’t help but be proud at how  _ good _ Ciri was now, both at fighting and at coaching. He was sure he hadn’t been nearly as calm and understanding when he was first teaching her.

They paused for a water break after about an hour, and Geralt was surprised to see Jaskier sunning himself next to the refreshments table, his lute in his lap and a fond expression on his face as he strummed idly. 

“Don’t mind me,” Jaskier called with a wave as Geralt and Ciri walked over. “Watching the two of you spar is  _ wonderful _ inspiration.” He went back to humming an unfamiliar melody, and Geralt rolled his eyes and took a deep drink from one of the waiting pitchers of water.

“See, you’re getting there,” Ciri said fondly, nudging Geralt’s shoulder with her own. “You’ll be back to your unstoppable self in no time.”

“Hmm.” He sincerely hoped so. He didn’t entirely know who he was if he couldn’t fight, so ingrained in him as it was.

“My goodness, Toussaint is  _ warm _ isn’t it?” Jaskier said, shrugging out of his doublet and fanning his face like  _ he _ was the one who had just finished an hour of vigorous exercise. “How on earth do you bear it, Ciri dear?”

“Wear fewer layers?” Ciri suggested with a shrug, drinking her fill before nodding back at the grounds. “Another round?” she asked Geralt.

“Hmm?” Geralt asked, distracted by the sight of Jaskier in his undershirt, the light fabric draping over his surprisingly sculpted torso and leaving very little to the imagination.

No wonder the man kept himself so buttoned up in public. Geralt suddenly found himself feeling incredibly possessive at the idea of anybody else seeing his bard like this. It was practically indecent. 

“Geralt? Another round?” 

Geralt’s attention snapped back to Ciri, who was watching him with mirth in her eyes, like she knew exactly what had drawn his focus.

“Or would you rather stay here drooling?” she teased, laughing as Geralt growled at her.

“Watch it, or I’ll dump you on your arse just like when you were younger,” Geralt warned, grabbing his sword and moving back into the centre of the room.

“You can certainly try,” Ciri said lightly. “Care to put a wager on this next bout?”

“A crown on Ciri,” Jaskier piped up from the sidelines, laughing to himself when Geralt gave an indignant squawk.

“Where’s that undying loyalty that you always speak of?” Geralt complained as he bought his sword up once more.

“I am nothing if not a pragmatist, my love,” Jaskier replied lightly, blowing Geralt an exaggerated kiss that made his cheeks flush.

“Now that’s just cheating,” he muttered quietly to himself as he blocked Ciri’s attacking swing.


	7. Chapter 7

After training, Geralt made sure he visited the stables before returning to his rooms. Yennefer had assured him at dinner the night before that Roach was settled and perfectly happy in her new lodgings, but Geralt knew the mare would sulk if he didn’t check in on her himself.

At first it was clear she didn’t quite know what to make of Geralt’s strange new appearance, blowing heavily through her nose and scraping her hoof against the ground as he approached. As he got closer she seemed to recognise him more - good to know his scent hadn’t changed, he supposed - and after he fed her a couple of apples she was back to her usual affectionate self.

“I know girl, it’s strange for me too,” Geralt soothed as he stroked down her neck. It had always been easier for him to confide in her than in humans, even Jaskier. “But I’ll be back to normal in no time...I have to be.”

Roach blew out another heavy snort of air, butting her head against Geralt’s chest. Geralt chuckled and gently shoved her away. “Now now, just because I look weaker than a sapling doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.” 

“One of these days I’m just going to have to accept that you prefer Roach to me, aren’t I?” 

Geralt jumped at the sound of Jaskier’s voice just behind him, still not used to people being able to get so close without him hearing them. He had always known objectively that his Witcher senses were far superior to humans, but knowing it and actually experiencing it were two entirely different beasts. How on earth did humans live with such a marginal awareness of the world around them? It was a miracle they’d survived this long as a race at all.

“I didn’t realise that was ever in question,” he replied as he turned to smile wryly at the bard.

Jaskier was leaning casually against the neighbouring stable door, his expression fond as he watched Geralt interact with Roach. “No, I suppose not. In that case I shall just have to graciously accept second place in your heart.” 

“Third, after Ciri.” 

“And so down the rankings I fall,” Jaskier replied, tone overly morose. “What’s a poor bard to do?”

Geralt smiled to himself at Jaskier’s dramatic behaviour, pointedly ignoring his theatrics as he scritched Roach behind her ear and fed her another apple. 

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to the other man’s movement, so this time he wasn’t surprised by the arms that wrapped around his waist from behind.

“Don’t pretend to ignore me,” Jaskier teased, his chest brushing against Geralt’s back as he mouthed kisses along his shoulder blade. “I shall only become more bothersome.”

“Not possible,” Geralt countered, but twisted his head to accept Jaskier’s next kiss on the lips nonetheless. Jaskier hummed happily, closing what scant gap remained between them as he deepened the kiss. 

Heat thrilled up Geralt’s spine as he felt the thick length of Jaskier’s cock start to swell against the curve of his ass, and he arched back into the firm press of Jaskier’s body behind him. 

“Want you,” Jaskier murmured against Geralt’s lips. “Want to take you right here, up against the wall.”

“Fuck.” Geralt felt light-headed at the thought; Jaskier fucking into him from behind, him thoroughly pinned between the wall and Jaskier’s body, unable to do anything more than take what was given to him.

“Can I?” Jaskier asked - practically begged - his question almost lost in amongst a steady stream of kisses. 

“Fuck,” Geralt repeated, before realising that wasn’t exactly an answer. “Yes. I want...I want that also.”

He could feel Jaskier’s smile as the other man drew away just far enough to nip at Geralt’s lower lip, teeth a delicious spike of pain against his kiss-bruised mouth. Geralt let out a surprised gasp, which quickly morphed into a moan of pleasure as one of Jaskier’s hands splayed wide across his chest and the other snaked down to palm at his cock through his clothing.

“Shhh, love,” Jaskier teased, the heel of his hand rubbing firm circles against Geralt’s groin and making him pant. “Can’t have anyone walking in on us like this now can we?”

“Hurry up and fuck me then,” Geralt groused, torn been grinding back against Jaskier’s cock and thrusting forward into his hand.

“So impatient,” Jaskier crooned, hand slipping inside Geralt’s hose to stroke at his naked flesh instead. Geralt groaned at the callus-rough slide against his heated prick, head dropping back to rest against Jaskier’s shoulder as he gave himself over to the sensation. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” Geralt started to thrust desperately up into Jaskier’s hand, ignoring the fond chuckle from the bard at his wanton actions. “Fuck me, Jaskier,  _ now _ .”

“Shh my love.” Jaskier’s hand withdrew from his trousers, and Geralt swallowed his whine of protest as Jaskier tugged down the fabric so that it bunched underneath the swell of his ass. “I’ve got you.”

Slick fingers brushed against his tight hole, and Geralt moaned loudly as he pressed back into the touch. He didn’t question where Jaskier had produced the slick from - he’d long since accepted that his partner was never caught unprepared when it came to sex - simply welcomed the attention as Jaskier slipped one long, dextrous finger inside of him.

“ _ Hrnfh _ ,” he gasped, bracing himself with both hands against the wall in front of him as he was slowly, deliciously penetrated. “More, I need more.”

Jaskier responded with a soft laugh and a delicate kiss to Geralt’s neck as he obligingly added another finger, working Geralt open until he was panting and desperate.

“I’m ready, I’m fucking ready. Gods damn it all, just fucking fuck me already,” Geralt cursed, knuckles turning white with how hard he was clawing at the wall. 

“Nobody ever believes me when I say that of the two of us you’re the more vocal one in bed,” Jaskier commented absently as he slipped out of Geralt and used the leftover lubricant to slick his own cock.

“Who have you been talking to about our sex life?” Geralt growled, twisting to glare at Jaskier who only chuckled in response as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock just nudging against Geralt’s ready entrance.

“Oh stop your posturing, you know I’m only teasing.” And with that Jaskier effectively cut off any argument Geralt might have responded with by sliding into him in one smooth movement.

“Fuuuck,” Geralt groaned as Jaskier bottomed out, his hips pressed flush with Geralt’s ass. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Yes darling, that is indeed what we’re doing,” Jaskier replied, the joke losing some of its bite given how breathless he sounded.

“Hnngh,” Geralt gasped, eyes rolling back in his head as Jaskier stilled inside of him. “ _ Move _ , you peacocking asshole.”

He could hear the laughter vibrate in Jaskier’s chest as the bard used the hand on Geralt’s chest to draw him upright, pressing them flush together, back to torso, as he drew out and thrust back in again.

Both men moaned in unison at the action, Geralt’s new voice rising high above Jaskier’s usual tenor. The obvious difference threw Geralt off, snapping him roughly back to reality when all he wanted to do was lose himself in his lover.

“Jaskier,” he gasped plaintively, hearing the discomfort seep into his voice as he asked for something just outside of his comprehension. 

Jaskier, thank the Gods, knew immediately what Geralt needed. He always did.

“It’s okay my love, I’ve got you,” he whispered soothingly, the rhythm of his hips never faltering as his hand slid up from its position over Geralt’s heart, caressing up and along his neck before pressing two fingers against Geralt’s lower lip in offering.

Geralt opened his mouth eagerly, accepting the digits with an eager swipe of his tongue. They lay as a firm, comforting weight as he suckled on them, his moans and gasps blessedly muffled as Jaskier pounded into him and took him higher and higher. 

“Gods, Geralt, you feel so good. So fucking good,” Jaskier gasped, his spare hand moving down to tug at Geralt’s so-far ignored cock. Geralt keened at the sensation, overwhelmed by the new point of contact. He could feel Jaskier everywhere; his back, his ass, his mouth, his cock, and he willingly gave himself over in his entirety.

His orgasm was almost a surprise when it hit, erupting out of nowhere and consuming him without warning. He cried out as he came, his release painting the wooden slats in front of him white, his whole body shuddering with released tension. 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” Jaskier shouted as Geralt clenched hard around him, and warmth flooded his insides as the other man joined him in his release. 

For a moment all either of them could do was take deep, ragged breaths as they both came back to themselves. Geralt’s legs felt like water; Jaskier’s embrace was the only thing keeping him upright, and even that had its limits. He felt the moment Jaskier’s knees buckled, and they both collapsed into the conveniently piled hay next to them, Jaskier slipping out of him as they fell.

“You know, I have to admit,” Jaskier eventually gathered his wits enough to say as he sprawled bonelessly across their temporary bed, “you being smaller makes that position  _ significantly _ easier than normal.” He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Geralt. “I feel we need to make the most of this unexpected revelation.”

Geralt’s responding laugh was more of a wheeze of exhausted breath. “I think Roach might object if this becomes a regular event here.”

The mare snorted her agreement, head poked over the door of her stable. Her expression was decidedly unimpressed as she stared down at the two of them, making it clear her thoughts on their unseemly behaviour.

“And here I was thinking we had become friends,” Jaskier whined, hand flapping tiredly at Roach. “You are a cruel beast and I shall never forgive you for this slight.”

Roach snorted violently enough to catch Jaskier with the resulting spray, ignoring the bard’s indignant yelp as she turned to finish her food in peace.

* * *

Geralt was undeniably pleased when they returned to their rooms to find a bath already drawn. After a full morning exercising with Ciri and then his time ‘exercising’ with Jaskier, he was more than ready for a good long soak.

He hummed his satisfaction as he headed immediately towards the connecting bathroom, stripping off his shirt and tossing it on the floor as he walked. 

“Why yes, I  _ will _ join you in this delightfully large bathing pool. Thank you so much for asking, my love,” Jaskier quipped as he slipped past Geralt already fully naked, climbing in and submerging himself so that only his head was visible above the water.

“When have you ever needed an invitation for anything?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious as he followed more sedately, settling himself with his back against the wall with a happy sigh of contentment.

“Well you know me, I like to keep things interesting.” Jaskier floated so that he was opposite Geralt. He cocked his head to the side as if considering saying something further but then clearly decided against it.

Geralt frowned, unable to read anything in Jaskier’s expression to decipher what he had been about to say. Normally the bard was an open book; if he didn’t blurt outright what he was feeling his scent would quickly make it clear. 

Without his Witcher advantage, Geralt found himself feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He had no idea what was going on inside Jaskier’s head, whether the man was happy, sad, horny, or something else entirely. How would he know what his bard needed from him? Was he supposed to just  _ guess _ ?

This had to be how Jaskier felt all the time, Geralt realised with a sickening lurch. Only worse, because Geralt was taciturn even on his best days, taking great care not to broadcast his emotions in any way. How much effort must Jaskier have to put in every single day, to work through all the layers of gruff stoicism that Geralt had hidden himself behind?

“I’m sorry.” 

“Hmm?” Jaskier’s brow wrinkled in confusion, which made sense since Geralt had blurted out his apology with absolutely no context.

“I’m sorry for making things hard for you,” Geralt tried again, but no, that still wasn’t what he meant to say.

Jaskier was clearly still none the wiser, as he chuckled awkwardly and leant forward to pat Geralt’s forearm. “It’s only a bath, love. I don’t care really.”

“No...I mean...hmm.” Geralt frowned as the words refused to come. Sometimes he wished he’d been gifted with even a trace of Jaskier’s natural eloquence. “I didn’t realise how much easier it is...was...to understand what you’re thinking when I can smell you. It’s so much harder now. This must be what it’s always like for you.” He hunched forward feeling very ashamed of himself. “I see now that I haven’t exactly made it any easier, so. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence as Geralt stared at his hands underneath the water, until soft fingers underneath his chin forced him to look up again.

Jaskier was right in front of him, his expression unbearably fond as he met Geralt’s gaze. “I knew exactly what I was getting into with you, my White Wolf.” Jaskier said softly. “I learnt your vocabulary of grunts years before we were ever anything more than friends.” He chuckled, hand moving to stroke Geralt’s cheek. “I hate to tell you this, love, but you’re not as hard to read as you might think.”

Geralt felt heat rush to his cheeks at the fond words. He had a horrible feeling his delicate human skin would flush far more obviously than normal, and that thought only made him blush harder. Mercifully Jaskier chose not to comment on it, though Geralt could tell he’d noticed by the crinkling around the corners of his eyes.

“Still. I’ll be better from now on,” Geralt stated firmly, lifting his jaw as if daring Jaskier to comment otherwise.

Jaskier just chuckled softly, and leaned in to kiss Geralt sweetly on the lips. “I appreciate the gesture, but I love you and your growls all the same.”

“And you’ll tell me? If you’re hurt or upset or frightened?” Geralt hated the idea that he might miss something important because of this stupid curse. How was he supposed to protect and care for his bard if he didn’t know that something was even  _ wrong _ ? 

“I swear it,” Jaskier replied seriously, letting the promise settle between them for a moment before quirking a mischievous eyebrow and tugging Geralt onto his lap so that they could pick up from where they left off in the stables.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Tiny Geralt to meet the big wide world again! Thank you as always for all of your wonderful amazing comments, seeing them pop up in my inbox is genuinely the best part of my day!

They had been at Yennefer’s for just over a week when Ciri suggested that she, Geralt and Jaskier visit the nearby town together. 

A decisive “No” was on the tip of Geralt’s tongue until he saw the way that Jaskier lit up at the suggestion, and he quickly swallowed the word back down. 

As lovely as Yennefer’s house and grounds were, it was obvious that Jaskier was getting bored cooped up with so few people to interact with. Jaskier was as much an extrovert as Geralt was introverted, and Geralt could see all the signs that he was starting to get restless in his own skin.

Geralt was more than aware of the mayhem that was certain to follow if those signs were ignored - he still remembered the time Jaskier’s lute had to be repaired after an unfortunate encounter with a Wyvern and the bard had decided to perform with a borrowed hurdy-gurdy instead - and and in any case, he  _ had _ promised Jaskier he would try and be better about these sorts of things.

So, with a resigned sigh, he nodded his agreement. “We can go tomorrow.  _ After _ training,” he conceded as Ciri clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Excellent! There’s this wonderful pastry shop I want to take you to Geralt,” she said excitedly. “And Jaskier, my favorite tailor makes doublets that will make you  _ weep _ .”

Geralt groaned and buried his face in his hands as Ciri and Jaskier started plotting a course through the town. He briefly considered whether he was willing to face Yennefer’s wrath at being interrupted in order to seek refuge with her instead; the sorceress had collected a number of samples from him over the past few days, and had since sequestered herself in her workroom with strict instructions not to interrupt. 

It was only the thought of her taking yet more samples - the last batch had been surprisingly invasive - that convinced him that going into town was probably a better option. Just.

* * *

As much as he hated to admit it, the pear tart Ciri insisted he buy from the pastry shop was actually rather good. 

So much so, in fact, that rather than follow Jaskier and Ciri into the tailors, he made his excuses and headed back to get a second one.

The young woman behind the counter looked up when he entered, and Geralt braced himself for the unease and distrust that almost always followed when he found himself alone in a confined space with a stranger. Admittedly, the lady had been perfectly friendly when they visited earlier, even slipping an extra sweet roll in with his purchase, but Geralt had let Jaskier and Ciri do most of the talking then. 

Now he was on his own. Melitele help him.

He opened his mouth to say something hopefully reassuring and non-threatening, but before he could speak the woman smiled brightly and beckoned him over.

“Welcome back, I was hoping I’d see you again,” she said, her voice so sociable that Geralt had to look over his shoulder to see if somebody else had followed him into the shop.

The lady giggled at his reaction, covering her mouth with her hand in a vague attempt to muffle the noise. “I meant you, handsome.”

“Um.” Geralt immediately forgot every single word he had ever learned, the word  _ handsome _ ricocheting violently around his suddenly empty brain like a trapped Noonwraith.

Completely undeterred by his lack of reaction, the woman leant forwards over the counter, one hand resting under her chin. Geralt recognised her expression as one that many a tavern patron had directed at a performing Jaskier over the years. It was an expression that - before he and Geralt finally admitted their feelings to one another - had often led to Jaskier spending the night with company. 

“Now then, what can I do you for?”

“Pear tart,” he blurted, faintly horrified at how strained his voice sounded. “Three of them. Please.”

The woman smiled coyly at him. “Coming right up.” 

She turned towards the trays of baked goods behind her and placed three of the oozing pastries into a linen cloth, folding it and tying the edges neatly in a bow. “Here you go,” she said, her hands lingering just a touch too long as she passed Geralt the parcel and accepted his coin in return. “Come back and visit again soon won’t you?”

“I...hmm...” Geralt stammered, feeling so far out of his depth he was sure he’d never see dry land again. “I have to go.”

And with that Geralt of Rivia, the fabled Witcher, the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen, turned on his heel and fled.

* * *

By the time he reached the tailor’s shop again, he’d almost convinced himself he’d imagined the whole encounter. Surely it wasn’t possible that the woman had been flirting? With him of all people? 

Nobody flirted with a Witcher. Except for Jaskier who didn’t really count on account of him being...well...Jaskier.

“Are you okay?” Ciri asked as Geralt entered the shop, immediately picking up on his disquiet. Jaskier looked up from where he was inspecting a truly hideous green and pink doublet, frowning at Geralt’s obviously frazzled appearance.

“I think the lady in the pastry shop might have had-” Geralt fumbled over the right word “-something of a fondness for me?”

There was a beat of silence, and then both Ciri and Jaskier burst out laughing.

“You only realised this now?” Jaskier asked, putting the doublet down and walking over to cup Geralt’s face with his hands. “The poor woman was almost falling over herself to get your attention the first time around. Did you not notice the extras she gave you?”

“I thought she was just being nice. Because you two are nice.”

“We are nice,” Ciri agreed. “But nice doesn’t get you free food from the best bakery in town.”

“This face certainly will though.” Jaskier lightly squeezed Geralt’s chin for emphasis. “Not to mention those fine buttocks of yours.”

  
“Ugh, no. None of that, thank you very much,” Ciri interjected. “There will be no talk of my father’s ass on this trip, or any other trip for that matter.”

“Seconded,” Geralt immediately agreed.

“Spoilsports, the pair of you,” Jaskier whined, but his movements were gentle as he stroked Geralt’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You okay?” he asked more softly, so that only Geralt could hear.

“It’s fine,” Geralt muttered into Jaskier’s palm, suddenly feeling rather foolish indeed. “It was just. Unexpected.”

Jaskier waited a beat, in case Geralt wanted to say anything else. When it became obvious that nothing more was forthcoming he nodded once and leant forward to press a soft, chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I’m sorry it took a curse for people to see you the way I do.”

Geralt snorted his disagreement. “I’m not. I know you find the attention flattering, but it’s something I could definitely live without.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Jaskier conceded with another light kiss. “Speaking of attention, shall we see if this town has any appetite for a travelling bard?”

“Oh yes, let’s,” Ciri agreed, walking over to sling an arm around Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you perform, Jask.”

“I have two new songs since we last saw you,” Jaskier told her as they left the shop (along with the green and pink monstrosity Jaskier insisted on spending far too much coin on) and headed for the town square. “And one of them is about you.”

Ciri clapped her hands together delightedly. “All positive things I hope?”

“Would I ever suggest anything else?” 

Jaskier smiled at them both fondly as he took his lute off his back, strumming a few warmup chords as he sauntered over towards the fountain in the middle of the square. The area was reasonably busy, and Jaskier immediately drew focus. A small gaggle of children playing knucklebones jumped up and crowded around him, and he rewarded them with a well-known jig that had them laughing and clapping along.

A couple of adults wandered over, most likely parents or guardians of the watching children, and soon enough a sizable crowd had formed around the bard. Geralt and Ciri hung back, letting the townspeople enjoy their fill, but Geralt found himself nodding along to the familiar tunes as Jaskier preened and strutted and generally performed his heart out.

“He’s always so good,” Ciri said to Geralt, her eyes on the bard as he jumped up onto the lip of the fountain with a flourish. “It seems like every time I see him he’s gotten even better.”

“We spent some time in Oxenfurt last summer,” Geralt explained. “I owed him some comforts after keeping him on the road all spring.”

Ciri turned away from Jaskier to smile fondly at Geralt. “You really love him, don’t you?”

It was true, of course. Geralt loved Jaskier more than air, more than The Path itself, but he wasn’t the type to gush about his feelings. Not even to Ciri.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” Ciri took pity on her father, patting him fondly on the arm. “As long as he knows.”

“He does,” Geralt replied firmly. Even if he didn’t say the words out loud often enough, he was sure that he more than made up for it with his actions.

He felt a tug at his trouser leg, and looked down to see a small boy, probably no older than five, looking up at him with big brown eyes.

“Hello?” Geralt said slowly, not used to interacting with children this young. Parents usually made sure they stayed far away from the Big Bad Witcher.

“I can’t see,” the child said, voice high pitched and pleading. Geralt had no idea what he wanted until he lifted his arms for emphasis.

“Ah. You-” he paused and looked around. In the absence of any irate parents making a beeline towards them he threw a quick look at Ciri, who nodded at him encouragingly. “You want a boost?” 

“Yes! I want to see the singing!” The child stretched his arms high overhead and Geralt threw one more panicked glance at Ciri who only grinned and gestured at him to get on with it.

“Okay then. Hold on tight,” Geralt picked the boy up under his armpits and deposited him on his shoulders. The boy squealed in delight, grabbing Geralt’s hair for balance.

“Hmm,” Geralt muttered, supporting the kid by his ankles as he wriggled along with music. “Careful, you don’t want to fall.”

He firmly ignored Ciri’s soft snickering next to him. 

Jaskier played his way through one of his more popular sets, and by the time he strummed his final chord it felt like most of the town had come out to watch.

“Thank you! Thank you!” he called, blowing kisses at his applauding audience. “I’ll be here all month.”

The small child on Geralt’s shoulders clapped eagerly, and Geralt had to grab his legs to make sure he didn’t overbalance in his excitement. 

“Do you want to meet the bard?” he asked, chuckling softly to himself when the kid eagerly agreed.

He and Ciri wove through the slowly dispersing crowd, reaching Jaskier just as he finished collecting up the last of the coin thrown at him. 

“Jaskier, I have someone who wants to meet you.”

Jaskier turned to face Geralt, his eyes flicking immediately up to the child on his shoulders. Geralt watched as his eyes widened minutely in shock, before his expression settled back in an easy grin.

“Well met, good Sir,” Jaskier said, sweeping into an exaggeratedly low bow. “And who might you be?”

The child giggled at the theatrics. “I’m Martyn,” he said. “Mama really likes your singing. I do too.”

“You and your mother have excellent taste,” Jaskier replied solemnly, “And where might she be?”

The child - Martyn - pointed over at one of the stalls lining the square. A harried looking woman minding the fish stall lifted a hand in acknowledgement, before turning back to serving her current customer. 

“Well then, shall we go say hello?” 

Jaskier packed up his lute and the four of them headed over to the fish stall, Martyn still perched happily on Geralt’s shoulders. 

Martyn’s mother had just finished up with her customer when they arrived, and she turned to the group with a slightly strained smile.

“Mama!” Martyn exclaimed, wriggling in a way that Geralt assumed meant he wanted to get down. Geralt dutifully reached up to grab him and return him to ground level. 

“Hey baby.” Martyn’s mother knelt down to hug her son. “Did you have fun listening to the music?”

“It was so good! I was so high up I could see  _ everything _ !”

“I saw,” she replied, looking up at Geralt. “Now say thank you to-”

“Geralt,” Geralt offered. “Geralt of Rivia.” 

“Say thank you to Geralt for letting you sit on his shoulders.”

“Thank you Geralt,” Martyn said dutifully before turning back to his mother. “Can I go play with Adam now?”

“Of course baby, but remember to stay where I can see you.” She kissed her son on the cheek, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron as he immediately scampered off.

“Thank you for looking after him,” she addressed Geralt this time, her expression genuinely appreciative. “Market days are always so busy, and he gets bored hanging around the stall with me.”

“It was no bother,” Geralt replied stiffly, having more anticipated rage at interacting with her son than gratitude. 

“The name’s Eleanor,” she said, holding out a hand to shake first Geralt’s hand, then Jaskier’s. “Haven’t seen you two around here before. Are you friends with Cirilla?”

“Father,” Geralt corrected, only realising when Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock how strange that must sound given his current youthful appearance. “It’s...hmm....”

“Geralt and Jaskier are staying with me and Yen for the next month or so,” Ciri interjected, all smiles as if there was nothing strange at all about Geralt’s statement. “It’s been a while since we last all saw one another, it’s been lovely to catch up.” 

To her credit, Eleanor simply nodded and let the conversation move on. “Well welcome to Toussaint, you two. I hope we’ll see you around here again soon.” She moved to wrap up a couple of large fish. “Let me send you home with something for supper, to say thank you for keeping an eye on my Martyn for me.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ciri accepted before Geralt could awkwardly attempt to reject the hospitality. “They look delicious.”

“Give my well wishes to Lady Yennefer,” Eleanor said as she handed Ciri the package. Ciri assured her that they would, and they left her to greet another customer.

“Well, that was a new look for you,” Jaskier teased as they moved out of earshot of the stall. “I wouldn’t have expected it, if i’m honest.”

“I like children,” Geralt said with a shrug. In the past he had always enjoyed helping Vesemir train the younger boys, not understanding why his brothers complained so when it was their turn on duty. “They just don’t tend to like me.”

“I liked you plenty when I was a kid,” Ciri said, her expression soft as she nudged Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt huffed a soft laugh, wrapping his arm around Ciri and drawing her in for a hug. “You were my child of surprise, you didn’t exactly have much choice in the matter.”

“I wonder if removing your Witcheryness returned your ability to have children,” Jaskier pondered absently, completely oblivious to the way that his words made Geralt draw up short.

“Wh- what?” 

“Well, you just said you liked children, perhaps in this form you could father one youself.” Jaskier continued, tapping his lower lip as he considered his own question. 

Ciri threw a bewildered glance at Geralt, who returned an equally confused one of his own. This wasn’t the first time that Jaskier’s scholar brain had run through a theoretical without fully considering the real world implications of what he was saying, but it usually didn’t involve hypothesising about Geralt’s reproductive capabilities.

It was somewhat disconcerting, to say the least.

“That being said, if you’re going to take a woman to bed I must insist I join you.” Jaskier turned to grin salaciously at Geralt, his train of thought taking him down the filthiest road possible, as usual. “That is an experience I  _ certainly _ don’t want to miss out on.”

Geralt barked out a rough laugh, feeling a sensation not dissimilar to whiplash with how quickly the conversation had turned. “I already have enough on my hands keeping an eye on you, I have no desire to add an  _ actual _ child into the mix.”

“Geralt I’m hurt! I am the very picture of adult responsibility,” Jaskier exclaimed, clutching his hand to his heart and swooning dramatically. The act only lasted a second before he broke into cackling laughter. “Okay, okay, I agree that procreating is probably not wise given our lifestyle.”

“ _ Thank you. _ ”

“But is it a hard no on bringing a third into our bed? Because I’m pretty sure the lovely lady from the bakery would be more than happy to assist.”

Ciri squawked in loud indignation. “You two are terrible!” she exclaimed, shoving at Jaskier’s shoulder. “No more sex talk while I’m in hearing range!”

“In my defence, that one was all Jaskier,” Geralt argued, pausing for a beat for dramatic effect. “That being said, I’m not adverse to sharing.”

“Ugh, you’re just as bad as he is!” Ciri hissed as Jaskier laughed and Geralt smiled smugly.

“And yet you love us all the same,” Jaskier wrapped Ciri up in a hug that she half-heartedly tried to fight off. “Now shall we be heading home? Being showered in praise and adoration really does take it out of a man and I would love to sneak in a nap before supper.”

* * *

They passed a few more shops along the way which drew either Jaskier or Ciri’s attention, so their progress was relatively slow. It was a far more enjoyable experience than Geralt was used to, though; the owners were all friendly and welcoming, and even allowed themselves to be haggled down to reasonable prices. That in itself was something Geralt had almost forgotten was even possible, so used was he to merchants tacking on some form of ‘Witcher Tax’. 

He even purchased a small bag of Jaskier’s favourite boiled sweets from one of the stalls lining the main road, an action that earned him such a fond look from the bard he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“I have to admit, it is nice being so welcomed,” Jaskier commented as they finally left the outskirts of the town and started to climb the hill back up to Yennefer’s. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a lot better since  _ Toss a Coin _ swept the continent, but there’s always the odd pocket of bigotry just waiting to sneak up on you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, feeling the same faint discomfort he always did when confronted by just how much harder he made Jaskier’s life sometimes (the fact that it was Jaskier who had insinuated himself into  _ Geralt’s _ life notwithstanding). 

“Do you remember the time you picked up that Griffin contract in Novigrad and the town alderman called you a-”

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt growled, cutting him off with a pointed glare. He always hated exposing Ciri to the harsh realities of his time on The Path, and they weren’t exactly fun memories for him to re-live either.

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut, looking contrite. “Yep, sorry, no depressing trips down memory lane from me today.”

Ciri frowned at them, but didn’t say anything, and the mood was noticeably more subdued as they continued onwards. Geralt mentally cursed himself for tarnishing the end of a perfectly lovely day with his two favourite people, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

He always did this; bring darkness into places which only deserved light. And right now he couldn't even blame it on being a Witcher.

“I suppose we shall just have to make the most of me being like this while we can,” he said casually, hoping that Jaskier would take the statement as the olive branch that it was.

Jaskier blinked at him, looking confused for a moment, before smirking devilishly. “That we shall, and in more ways than just this I hope.” 

Geralt grinned, feeling the familiar curl of heat unfurl in his belly at Jaskier’s suggestion, and - ignoring Ciris’s outcry at yet more inappropriate behaviour between the two of them - responded by pulling him in for a short but heated kiss.

And if something else uncurled in his chest that was altogether more uncomfortable? Well, he didn’t need to address that just yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course, because nothing can ever be easy for these two...here comes the angst. I'm so sorry!

The uncomfortable feeling in Geralt’s chest hadn’t gone away by the time they returned home. It didn’t go away all throughout their usual evening spent eating, drinking and playing Gwent, and it was still in full force when he woke up the next day. And the day after that.

It took Geralt three full days to finally put a name to the strange feeling that seemed to lurk near-constantly at the edges of his consciousness: guilt.

It wasn’t in guilt in its usual form; Geralt was all too familiar with the guilt of not being able to kill a monster in time, the guilt of humans dying as a result of his missteps. It wasn’t the twinge he felt when he told Jaskier they had another three days on the road before the next town, or the ache of having to send Ciri a message telling her that they wouldn’t be able to meet as planned.

Guilt over his actions was commonplace. This was different. This was guilt over what he was, or rather, wasn’t.

Yennefer had asked him a long time ago if he had ever dreamt of being anything other than a Witcher. His answer then - that if he had, it was too long ago for him to remember - was still true now. He had long since accepted his place in society. He was a monster-hunter, regardless of those who saw him as little more than a monster himself. As a trainee he had been told time and time again that Witchers held no loyalty to kings, or lands, or even family. His loyalty was to The Path and nothing else, and even after all this time he still believed that. 

He knew some Witchers who railed against the injustice of it all, of being plucked from their old lives and forced into a new one that brought them nothing but pain. There was a reason his brother Lambert lashed out at everyone around him, furious at the world for the shitty hand he’d been dealt. Even Geralt knew he’d allowed himself concessions over the years that his teachers would have been disappointed in him for; adopting Ciri as his own, loving Yennefer (for a while), loving Jaskier (for longer). For the most part, though, he accepted that those connections were simply embroidery on the fabric of a life that had already been woven. After all, a Witcher never retired, and they never died in their own bed.

Except now everything was different. The universal truths that had governed his life were no more, and he was faced with something he never thought he would have. A choice. 

By asking Yennefer to find the sorcerer from Mulbrydale he was actively  _ choosing _ to become a Witcher again. This was more than accepting his lot in life, it was a conscious decision. It meant that all of the hardships that came with being a Witcher would be his choice, and by extension his fault. Even worse, the hardships brought upon those around him would be his fault. Every time they were run out of a village, every time Jaskier got hurt during a fight, he’d know that it could have been avoided. He could have stayed human, and he chose otherwise.

Once that revelation made its home in Geralt’s brain, it was impossible not to see the impact of that choice everywhere. 

He saw it in Ciri’s joyous laughter when she disarmed him during one of their morning sparring sessions. “I’ve always wondered what a fair fight with you would be like,” she said as she wiped the sweat from her brow. “It’s nice, feeling like your equal and not like you’re just humouring me. I didn’t think I’d ever get that.”

He saw it in the way that Yennefer had started to soften towards him. Not a lot by any means, but enough to notice. “I don’t feel it anymore,” she commented quietly to him one evening while Ciri and Jaskier were distracted bickering about something unimportant. “The Djinn’s pull. I think whatever magic undid your Witcher powers also undid the wish.” Geralt could practically see her whole body relax in the wake of the admission. “It’s...good. Good to know I can actually like you without magical intervention.” She tilted her head to smile wryly at him. “I know you feel the same, so don’t say anything to ruin this moment, okay?” 

And then of course there was Jaskier. Jaskier who took every opportunity to worship every inch of him, whose admiration fell from his lips easier than song. They had fucked in every room of Yennefer’s mansion, and more than once in the stables under Roach’s reproachful gaze, and even Geralt at his most self-deprecating couldn’t find it in him to doubt just how much Jaskier loved his new form.

Part of Geralt started to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be easier to just...stay like this. It was only a small part, but it was loud, and seemed to grow louder every day. Every time Ciri or Yennefer smiled at him, every time Jaskier’s gaze turned heat-filled and lustful, that voice got a little bit more insistent in its cry.

_ ‘Why do you want to throw this all away? Why don’t you want to make the people you love happy?’  _ it asked, and Geralt found that he didn’t have a good answer.

Their second week at Yennefer’s rolled around, and the damnable voice got harder and harder to ignore. He visited town twice more, and found himself making friends with the local blacksmith. The old man was direct and no nonsense, and appreciated Geralt’s help in calming a big carthorse who had thrown a shoe. Jaskier grinned from ear to ear when he returned from performing to find what had become of Geralt, and promptly composed a song about the Witcher who retired a farrier and lived the rest of his days eating, drinking, and being generally merry. 

It was an incessantly catchy jingle that earned Jaskier a respectable amount of coin, and succeeded in burrowing its way into Geralt’s brain in a way that had him lying awake at night, wondering if there had been more behind Jaskier’s words than he realised.

Day by day, bit by bit, Geralt found it easier and easier to convince himself that staying human was the right thing to do. It became a mantra in his head, repeated in an endless loop:

He wanted this.

(It still felt like a metaphorical punch to the gut every time he instinctively tried to cast  _ Igni _ to light a candle and nothing happened. It was a much more literal gut-punch when he forgot that  _ Quen _ would do nothing for him during a fight and Ciri barreled into him with her full weight behind her.)

He wanted this. 

(His dreams were still filled with silver and blood and slain monsters. When he heard of Arachnomorph sightings nearby it was all he could do not to pick up his swords and go running, size and strength be damned. But when Jaskier commented that it was nice not having to worry about him dying on a contract and never returning, he didn’t argue.)

He wanted this.

(He didn’t think about what Vesemir would say if he saw him like this. What his brothers would say if they found out he decided to stay human. Would he even be allowed to return to Kaer Morhen next winter?)   
  


He wanted this.

(He had to want it, there was no other choice.)

* * *

Three weeks after this whole mess started, Geralt knew he was running out of time to tell Yennefer to stop her search. He’d come to terms with his decision - he  _ had _ \- but he knew he didn’t have the strength in him to actively turn down information about the sorcerer’s whereabouts. Better to simply...never find him. 

Jaskier had mentioned over breakfast that morning that he was thinking of heading into town to collect a new doublet he’d commissioned, and Geralt had encouraged the bard to take Ciri along too. With them both out of the house he’d have all the time in the world to talk to Yennefer without being interrupted.

Which was how he found himself outside the door to Yennefer’s workroom, hovering. There really was no other word for it as he paced back and forth in front of the heavy wooden door, trying to work up the courage to just get over himself and knock.

He’d just about convinced himself that it made more sense to come back with a peace offering of lunch when the door swung open, revealing a very unimpressed Yennefer on the other side.

“You know I can hear you thumping around out here, right? You’re not exactly quiet.” 

Geralt ducked his head in embarrassment at being caught out like an errant child, hearing rather than seeing Yennefer’s exasperated sigh.

“Well come on in then, I do actually have some things I wanted to show you.” Yennefer swept away from the door with an imperious wave, heading over towards a solid oak table scattered with maps and scrying crystals.

“Your sorcerer friend is a sneaky one, I’ll give him that,” she sounded reluctantly impressed as Geralt followed her over to the table, “but I think-”

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you,” Geralt interrupted before she said anything that he couldn’t unhear.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow at him, but thankfully didn’t continue. Geralt huffed and scrubbed at his face with his hand as he tried to get his thoughts in order. He’d spent hours rehearsing what he wanted to say to her, but now he was actually here he couldn’t remember a single word.

“I’ve been thinking” he began slowly, fumbling over even these basic introductory words. “You should stop looking.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened, but nothing else about her reaction seemed to suggest she’d even heard what he said. She stood still as a statue, clearly waiting for him to elaborate.

“These past few weeks have been...nice,” Geralt forged onwards, staring at a point just past Yennefer’s ear. “It’s been nice, being human. I want to stay this way, so you don’t need to try and find the sorcerer. I don’t need him any more”

Geralt felt like he might actually suffocate on the silence that followed, clogging up his nose and forcing its way down his throat. It stretched indeterminately onwards as Yennefer simply stared at him, and then:

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” Geralt spluttered, finally focussing on Yennefer’s stony expression. And what an expression it was, Geralt couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so furious.

“I said, bullshit.” Yennefer crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, the very picture of done. “I know you, Geralt, and what you just said is pure, unfiltered cow’s manure.”

“I mean it, Yen,” Geralt insisted, crossing his own arms and trying to match her disdainful glare. “The sorcerer said it himself. He was giving me what I desired but didn’t yet realise, and now realise that he was right.”

“And I’ve realised that you’re talking entirely out of your arse.”

“Am not.”

“Are too- gods above, stop acting like an overgrown child!” Yennefer threw her hands up in exasperation before taking a number of steadying breaths. When she continued she seemed to be making a concerted effort to speak calmly. “Honestly, Geralt. Where on earth is this coming from?” 

Geralt gave a heavy sigh, seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this without actually talking. Gods, but he hated talking, especially about things like this. 

“Being a Witcher is hard, and dangerous, and thankless,” he began, talking to the floor by his feet. “Before it was the only option, so it wasn’t worth thinking about the alternative. But now it’s not. So I have. My being a Witcher puts those around me in danger, and it would be better -  _ safer _ \- for everyone if I stayed human.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Yennefer agreed readily, and Geralt’s head snapped up to stare at the sorceress in surprise. He hadn’t expected her acquiescence  _ quite _ so easily. “If you completely ignore the fact that Ciri will be hunting monsters with or without you, Jaskier is a complete slut for danger and if you even  _ think _ of suggesting I can’t take care of myself I will strangle you with your own entrails. So. Why don’t you try that one again.”

It felt like all of Geralt’s strings had been cut, and he collapsed down onto the workbench running along the nearest wall with a thump. His whole body shuddered as he exhaled heavily, burying his face in his hands. It was too much, it was all too much.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, and he peered through his fingers to see that Yennefer had seated herself on the bench next to him. Her expression was open, and sincere, and so unlike their usual exchanges that it only served to make Geralt collapse further in on himself.

“Talk to me, Geralt,” Yennefer said softly. “Where’s all this coming from, really?”

Geralt leant into her touch, her firm presence grounding him as he forced himself to really think about the past few weeks. “Everyone seems to prefer me like this,” he admitted slowly, hating how small his voice sounded. “You’ve all said it, in some form or another. You like that I’m small, and fragile, and...and human.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Yennefer sounded like she was trying very hard to keep calm in the face of obvious lunacy, “that we might all be saying nice things to you to try and make you feel better while you’re cursed?”

Geralt paused. No, it hadn’t occurred to him. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that all those words that felt like barbs directly into his most vulnerable areas had been intended to  _ help _ . He didn’t understand it, didn’t understand why they would even do that. And wasn’t that exactly the problem right there?

“It’s more than that,” he insisted, grasping for the words to describe this awful, horrible feeling that had weighed him down these past few weeks. “It’s made me see how much of an ass I was before. I didn’t realise how much I made Jaskier work for my affection, I always assumed he could just...tell. Like I could him.” Once the words started coming he found that he couldn’t make them stop, all of his insecurities pouring out of him in an unending, unyielding torrent. “And I completely forgot how easily humans tire - gods Yen, I’ve made him walk so far before, complained when he tripped or stumbled or needed to stop for food. And don’t even get me started on how hard I’ve pushed Ciri over the years. I’ve been terrible to them both without even realising, and what if … what if when I’m a Witcher I forget all over again?”

Yennefer didn’t immediately respond after he finally trailed off into silence, her hand still rubbing soothing patterns across his back. Eventually she gave a heavy sigh. “Have you talked to Jaskier or Ciri about this? If you’re going to project your issues onto them they might want to actually have a say in the matter.”

Geralt tensed at the suggestion, turning to look at Yennefer in panic. “Yen...you can’t...please don’t tell them.”

“You’re going to have to tell them at some point, or are you hoping they’ll both just  _ forget _ that you used to be a Witcher?”

“No, no of course not,” Geralt replied, even though part of him sort of had. “I just want to leave it a bit longer, until they’re so used to me like this they won’t question it when I tell them.”

Yennefer groaned, her hand leaving Geralt’s back so that she could rub at her temples. “Gods save me from boneheaded men and their irrational saviour complexes,” she muttered to herself before straightening up and fixing Geralt with one of her stares that would make even the hardiest of opponents quake. 

“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea,” she said decisively. “But at the end of the day this is your decision to make, and I know what it’s like to have that taken away from you. If it’s really what you want, then I won’t intervene.”

“So you won’t tell them?” Geralt couldn’t quite believe she was agreeing to his request.

“I won’t tell them.”

“And you’ll stop looking for the sorcerer?”

Yennefer paused for a beat before answering that question. “I will not devote any more resources into determining the location of your sorcerer.”

Geralt had been around Yennefer long enough to know that there was something in her words that she wasn’t saying outright, but it was close enough that he couldn’t bring himself to argue further. “Thank you,” he said instead, his voice breaking on just how much he meant it.

Yennefer’s expression softened at his fervent thanks, but she was graceful enough not to draw attention to it. Instead she stood up and dusted off her skirts with a brisk swipe of her palms. “You can thank me by helping pickle frog hearts to replenish my stores,” she said, offering him a hand up which he gratefully took. “Come on now. Less moping, more slicing.”

* * *

Yennefer kept him busy for most of the rest of the day. Once they finished with the frog hearts they moved onto crushing beetles, and then draining the fluid from an animal Geralt couldn’t identify and had no desire to. By the time the supper bell rang Yennefer had a fully restocked ingredients store, and a very tired Geralt on her hands.

Geralt was ninety-nine percent sure the work had been intended as a distraction for him, but then again maybe Yennefer just liked the free labour.

Ciri and Jaskier were still out so supper was a quiet affair between the two of them, and Geralt retired early to bed feeling the emotional and physical toll of the day right down to his toes. As he rolled around in their large bed, trying to get comfortable without his bard to curl around, he replayed his conversation with Yennefer over and over again. The sorceress had had a glint in her eye that seemed to suggest that there was more going on than she would care to admit, but Geralt was reasonably sure she wouldn’t break an outright promise to not tell Jaskier...would she? His final thought before he fell asleep was that he should talk to Yennefer again tomorrow, to really impress on her the need for her to stay quiet until he was ready to talk.

In the end though, Yennefer’s loyalty didn’t have a chance to be put to the test. The next morning Geralt woke up to find the other side of the bed cold and untouched. Jaskier hadn’t come home last night.


	10. Chapter 10

Geralt tried not to jump to conclusions as he dressed and made his way downstairs. There were a hundred different reasons why Jaskier might not have come to bed last night. Perhaps he and Ciri had decided to stay over in town after a late, last-minute performance at the tavern. Perhaps they’d both had a little too much to drink and he’d find them nursing hangovers in a dark room somewhere.

_ “Perhaps Jaskier saw how much better he could have it if he was with an actual human and left you,” _ a snide voice in his head whispered, which he resolutely ignored.

What little optimism he’d managed to keep hold of promptly evaporated as he entered the dining room and saw Ciri sitting in a chair, covered in blood.

“Ciri!” He rushed over and dropped to his knees in front of her. “Fuck, are you okay? What happened?”

Ciri’s face was deathly pale as Yennefer stitched up a nasty looking gash across her shoulder. “We were on our way home,” she said, breathing through the pain. “It was dark and we weren’t paying attention.” She buried her face in her hands with a choked-off sob. “I should have been paying more attention.”

“Ciri.” Geralt felt a horrible chill run through his body.  _ Where was Jaskier?  _ “Ciri, what happened?”

“Arachnomorphs. They surrounded us. I tried to fight them off, I swear I did everything I could but there were so many of them and...they took him.” Ciri looked up at Geralt with tear filled eyes, anguish written across every inch of her face. “They took Jaskier. I’m sorry, Geralt, I’m so so sorry.”

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

Geralt’s actions were nothing but gentle as he gathered his daughter up in his arms, muttering soft reassurances to her as she wept into his shirt, but inside he was screaming. This was all his fault. He’d heard about the Arachnomorph sightings the other week and he’d done nothing. He’d sat here and played pretend and now Jaskier was missing and hurt and…

No, he wouldn’t finish that thought. Jaskier wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he soothed, stroking a hand up and down Ciri’s back as he met Yennefer’s concerned gaze over her shoulder. “You did everything you could. I’m proud of you for making it home. You’re okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll get him back.” 

“I followed them as far as I could,” Ciri finally said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and leaving a streak of red across her cheek. “They took him up into the caves to the west of here. As soon as Yen has patched me up I’ll head back out again. I’ll get him back Geralt, I swear it.”

“No.” Geralt’s response was immediate and absolute, and quickly echoed by Yennefer.

“Absolutely not,” the sorceress said firmly. “You’ll need a good day’s worth of healing before this shoulder even starts to stitch itself back together, and with how you were clutching at your side when you came in there’s a high chance of internal bleeding.”

Geralt nodded along with Yennefer’s words, trying not to be too alarmed by the diagnosis. Ciri had had worse injuries before, and she’d likely have worse again, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Yennefer is right. You stay here and heal, I’ll go after Jaskier.”

“No!” Ciri surged up to grab at him, wincing as the sudden gesture clearly aggravated her injuries. “You can’t go after him, not in that body. They’ll tear you apart.”

“They can try,” Geralt growled, but rather than reassuring Ciri it just caused her to let out another wet sob. 

“No,  _ no _ . You can’t send yourself out on a suicide mission, not because of me.” She gripped his wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp, her eyes wild as she stared adamantly at him. “Promise me, Geralt. Promise me you won’t go after them like this.”

And  _ fuck _ , in that moment Geralt hated everyone and everything that had ever conspired to put him in this most impossible of positions. How on earth was he supposed to choose between Jaskier and Ciri? The two halves of his heart, how could he ever make a call like that?

“I…” Geralt began, honestly unsure of what he was even going to say, but before he was forced to make a decision that would irreparably break him forever, Yennefer stepped in.

“Ciri, my love, it’s okay.” Her words were ostensibly directed at Ciri, but her gaze was focussed on Geralt as she spoke. “My scrying crystals found Geralt’s sorcerer last night. He can get his mutations returned-” she paused, as if waiting for Geralt to object “-and then he and I will  _ both _ go and get our bard back.”

_ Oh thank the Gods. _

The immediateness of Geralt’s reaction was almost overwhelming as sheer, visceral relief flooded through every inch of his body. Yennefer had found him. She’d found the sorcerer and Geralt could get his Witcher powers back and he could rescue Jaskier and everything would finally,  _ finally _ be right with the world again. 

It didn’t even occur to him that becoming a Witcher wasn’t what he was supposed to want any more until he noticed that Yennefer was still staring resolutely at him, body tense as if bracing herself for his ire. And perhaps he should have felt conflicted, indignant even at Yennefer breaking her word so easily after everything they had talked about yesterday, but in that moment all he could feel was gratitude. Gratitude that the decision that had been tormenting his every waking moment had finally been taken out of his hands. 

“Oh thank the Gods,” Ciri exhaled, mimicking Geralt’s internal response right down to the uptick at the end of the sentence (and making Geralt smile at their similarities despite everything). “Fuck, talk about perfect timing.”

Another wave of relief washed over Geralt at the complete lack of hesitation in her voice. It seemed that for all his internal strife, Ciri was completely unconflicted about the prospect of Geralt returning to his original form. 

“Indeed,” he replied slowly, giving a small nod to Yennefer, whose posture immediately relaxed. She gave a quick nod in reply before urging Ciri out of her chair. 

“Alright, that’s settled then. Come on now, let’s get you to your rooms so that we can start to properly patch you up.”

Ciri stood up with a pained grunt, one hand coming to clutch at her side as the other grasped Geralt’s shoulder for support. “You’ll get him back, right?” she asked, sounding all of a sudden like the terrified young girl Geralt had found in the woods all those years ago.

“I will,” he said as he looped an arm around her waist to support her weight, feeling the strength of his conviction harder than he had in weeks. “I’ll bring Jaskier home, I promise.”

* * *

Ciri finally allowed herself to be put into a magical healing sleep, but not before making both of them swear that they wouldn’t do anything stupid while she was unconscious. Geralt wasn’t quite sure what counted as ‘stupid’, but he figured he wouldn’t be breaking any promises as long as he made it back in one piece. Preferably before she woke up.

“I apologise for telling Ciri,” Yennefer said, sounding genuinely contrite as she and Geralt headed for her workroom. “I hope you believe me when I say I truly meant not to interfere, but you know what Ciri is like. She wouldn’t have stopped trying to go back out again.”

“This is what you wanted to tell me yesterday, wasn’t it? That you’d found him.” It wasn’t really a question, but Yennefer nodded all the same.

“We don’t have to go after him if you really don’t want to. We can tell Ciri the location tracking was wrong and I can go get Jaskier on my own.” She gave a bright laugh that sounded fake even to Geralt’s ears - he hadn’t forgotten the story she’d told him years ago about her encounter with an assassin and his pet Krallach. “I’m sure I can handle myself against a few measly spiders.”

Geralt huffed, wearily scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t lie to her, Yen, you know that.”

“Then I can lie to her. If it means that I’m not forcing you into something you don’t want to do, I’ll do it.”

Geralt sighed, his heart twisting at Yennefer’s open, guileless expression. There was no way that she didn’t know exactly what she was doing by making that offer. By willingly taking on the burden of responsibility for Ciri, she was also taking away his excuse that he had no other option than to become a Witcher again. She was ensuring that if Geralt regained his mutations it was because it was what he chose, and nothing less.

And fuck, he couldn’t even pretend to himself that it wasn’t what he wanted any more, not after that gut punch reaction to Yennefer’s revelation. He could claim all he liked that he would be doing it to save Jaskier, but he knew in his heart of hearts that would never be the whole truth. Now that the door was open it couldn’t be closed again. He couldn’t stare his old life in the face and turn and walk away from it, he just couldn’t.

Maybe Jaskier would tire of him eventually if he became a Witcher again, but Geralt would push the bard away just as surely if he forced himself to stay as he was now. And maybe Ciri would be disappointed that he was no longer human - although her response to Yennefer’s news made him hopeful that that might not be the case - but she’d be beyond devastated if she ever found out that he’d lied to her. And if he was going to disappoint them both either way…

“No,” he said, forcing himself to meet Yennefer’s eyes as he finally acknowledged that which he’d been trying so hard to deny. “I want to be a Witcher again. I really,  _ really _ want it.”

“I know,” Yennefer said, the utter surety in her voice telling him she’d known all along and had just been waiting for Geralt to admit it. “And that’s an okay thing to want, truly.”

“Is it?” Geralt couldn’t help himself asking. “Isn’t it just selfishness to-” he waved his hands vaguely in front of him, as if that could somehow encompass every confusing thought he’d had over the past few weeks, “-in spite of everything?” 

“It’s not selfish to want to be the person you are,” Yennefer said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder supportively. “Nobody who loves you would ever want anything different for you. Not me, not Ciri, and certainly not Jaskier.”

“But what if Jaskier grows to resent life on the road? What if he decides that it’s...that i’m not worth it?”

“Then I shall hex him into oblivion and Ciri will probably hunt him down to get a few good hits in herself.”

“And if...if I start to forget what it’s like to be human again?” He could barely bring himself to ask the question, let alone look at Yennefer as he did so.

“Then I shall hex  _ you  _ into oblivion and let Ciri hunt you down just the same. Does that make you feel better?”

“It...actually really does,” Geralt had to admit. “Thank you, Yen.” He felt the words catch in his throat as he brought his own hand up to cover hers. “Honestly, thank you.”

Yennefer’s eyes were bright as she squeezed at his shoulder once more, and Geralt felt the weight of all of their many years of friendship in the touch. While the romantic flame between them had long since burned out, he knew that the bond between the two of them was special, unbreakable. Even without a Djinn’s wish binding them together.

“Okay, enough of this sentimental nonsense,” she eventually said (and if Geralt hadn’t known better he would have sworn that was a tear she roughly scrubbed off her cheek as she made her way over to her workbench). “These spiders won’t wait forever before making themselves a Jaskier-shaped snack.”

“They’ll keep him alive until it’s time to feed,” Geralt said, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand and recounting what he knew about Arachnomorphs. “They only eat every other day, and Ciri said she saw a half-eaten carcass in their lair. Realistically we probably have a full day before they start seriously considering Jaskier as food, but I’ve no desire to test that assumption with Jaskier’s life as collateral.” 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Yennefer said, eyes sharp with intent as she started to conjure a portal in the middle of the room. “I can be  _ very _ persuasive when I want to be.” 

Geralt grinned at the sorceress, feeling his own resolve start to crystallize. The time for second guessing was behind him. Now it was time for him to get his body - and his bard - back.

* * *

The portal spat the pair of them out into what appeared to be a set of underground rooms.

“Where are we?” Geralt asked quietly, turning on the spot to try and get his bearings. Unlit sconces, utilitarian furniture, a layer of dust on the ground. They were clearly somewhere that was not often frequented.

“Below an abandoned manor house about a hundred miles north of Kaedwen,” Yennefer replied, conjuring a ball of fire in her left hand to better light the area around them. “Don’t ask me why your sorcerer is here because I have no idea, I just took us where the tracking crystals told me.”

“Wonderful,” Geralt deadpanned, earning himself a surprisingly hard punch to the shoulder.

“Less snarking, more tracking,” Yennefer hissed. She listened for a moment at the nearest door before slowly pushing it open, beckoning for Geralt to follow her out into an equally unmaintained corridor.

“There’s a fresh set of footprints, leading that way.” He pointed to their left, where the corridor stretched onwards into blackness. 

“That way we go, then,” Yennefer said, making her magical light shine a touch brighter as she started following the footprints. Geralt followed a pace behind her so that he could see where he was stepping, his steel sword unsheathed and at the ready. 

They’d walked maybe fifty metres when Geralt heard sounds of movement coming from behind a closed door ahead of them, and he quickly signalled for Yennefer to stop. The sorceress immediately halted, cocking her head to listen as well, and then together they slowly inched towards the noise. When they reached the door they paused again, listening to the sounds of a man humming to himself as glasses clinked and rattled. It had to be him, the sorcerer.

Geralt held up three fingers, and when Yennefer nodded he used them to count down to one. On his signal they both moved in unison, bursting through the door into a wide open room.

“Don’t move.” Geralt’s voice was perfectly calm even as the sorcerer yelped and jumped in surprise. The glass beaker he was holding smashed on the floor, the contents evaporating with a somewhat concerning hiss, and he spun to face the two of them.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, voice quavering as his eyes darted from side to side, clearly looking for an escape route. 

“Don’t even think about portalling,” Yennefer said, stepping closer with a hand raised in front of her. “I promise you you’ll regret it.”

“I don’t...who are you and what do you want?” The sorcerer drew himself up and tried to look imposing, but the obvious tremor in his hands gave him away.

“You don’t know who I am?” Geralt asked bitterly, matching Yennefer’s pace as they both stalked closer. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognise your own work?”

The sorcerer looked confused for a second before understanding flickered across his features. “You...you’re the Witcher.”

“One and the same. Now, you’re going to undo whatever curse you put on me, and if you’re quick about it we might even let you go.”

“Curse?” the sorcerer said, sounding hurt. “Oh my dear Witcher, no. What I gave you was a  _ gift _ .”

Geralt snorted derisively. “Nice try, but spare me the bullshit. I have no desire to be human, not now and not ever.”

“Tick tock,” Yennefer helpfully added, menacing sparks crackling from her outstretched hand.

The sorcerer blinked once, twice. Geralt could practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes. “My gift wasn’t turning you human,” he said slowly. “I gave you something much more precious than that.”

Despite everything, that was enough to give Geralt pause. “What do you mean?” 

The sorcerer went to take a step forward, stopping when Yennefer hissed in warning. “My dear Witcher,” he said, hands reaching out beseechingly. “I saw you that day, with your bard. I saw how you yearned for him, but it was clear you would never admit to it, not even to yourself. You desired him, I could tell, but you needed a nudge. An event to force you to...acknowledge that desire.” 

Geralt frowned, trying to understand the implications behind the sorcerer’s words. What the man was suggesting didn’t make any sense; he and Jaskier had been fucking for  _ years _ before Mulbrydale. Jaskier had been blatant in his interest for Geralt from practically the moment they met, and once Geralt had gotten over himself and gotten under Jaskier, he’d made sure the bard was never in any doubt as to his own affections. Was there something he was missing? Something more he should have been doing all this time?

It was Yennefer who worked it out first, letting out a sharp, scornful laugh. “Oh, he has no idea what he’s doing.” Geralt turned in confusion towards Yennefer, who let out another maniacal chuckle. “He’s throwing shit at the wall and hoping that something sticks enough for us to believe he had honourable intent. He’s making it up as he goes along.”

Geralt growled as he faced the sorcerer again, furious at the man for making him question his relationship with Jaskier for even a second. “Is that true?”

The sorcerer gave an apologetic little shrug, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “It was worth a shot. Usually the brooding types are terrible at working through their feelings.”

Geralt didn’t know whether he was supposed to be offended by that. Either way, he was quickly losing what little patience he had left. “So you simply felt like fucking with me, and figured you’d come up with a reason if it ever came to it?”   
  
“Something along those lines, yes.”

Geralt growled and lifted his sword, fully intending on showing the idiot exactly how misguided that plan was, but he was stopped by Yennefer’s hand on his elbow.

“If you kill him he can’t undo the spell,” she said calmly, although her expression promised later retribution.

“Hmm. Fuck.” Geralt reluctantly lowered his weapon, still glaring at the sorcerer. As much as he wanted to make this man suffer for what he’d put him through, every moment wasted was a moment Jaskier was left at the Arachnomorphs’ mercy. “Okay, Sorcerer. Undo whatever magic you cast on me, and I may just let you live.”

“So melodramatic, the pair of you,” the sorcerer said with an eyeroll that seemed entirely too dismissive given his current predicament. “Fine, stand there and don’t move. This may sting a bit.”

He lifted his hand and there was a flash of white light. Pain ricocheted through Geralt’s body and a scream ripped through the room which he vaguely recognised as his own. He just about had time to see Yennefer fling a burst of her own magic at the sorcerer, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get me wrong, I love emotionally-constipated-full-denial-Geralt as much as the next girl, but this was too fun a twist to pass up! Let me know what you think, I'd love to know!


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Geralt heard when he regained consciousness was  _ everything _ . From the steady crackle of lit torches to the scrabbling of small creatures inside the walls, a picture of Geralt’s surroundings was painted for him before he even opened his eyes. Over the past few weeks he’d managed to adjust to how dull his senses were as a human, but having his Witcher abilities back was a rush like no other. 

And there was no doubt about it, they were indeed back. 

He opened his eyes and was almost overwhelmed by how beautiful everything looked, even in these long-abandoned underground rooms. He’d almost forgotten how many colours his mutagen-enhanced eyes could see, how broad his spectrum of vision was when he focussed.

_ Fuck _ , but he had missed this.

“See, I told you he was fine.” Geralt winced as the words rang loud in his newly-sensitive ears, and he twisted towards the source of the noise to see the sorcerer sitting on the floor with his hands and legs bound in front of him, seemingly unbothered by the murderous expression Yennefer was directing his way.

“And I told you if you spoke again you’d lose the ability to,” Yennefer growled, her fingers twitching menacingly. “Did you think I was bluffing?”

“What happened?” Geralt asked, his voice raspy but gratifyingly low. He rolled over onto his hands and knees before pushing himself up to standing. “What did you do to me?”

“Exactly what you asked,” the sorcerer replied. “You are a Witcher again, are you not?”

Geralt ran through a quick inventory of his person, and was relieved to find that - as far as he could tell - everything felt exactly as it should. 

“Geralt?” Yennefer sounded concerned as she checked in on him, and Geralt snapped his attention back to her and the sorcerer.

“He seems to be telling the truth.” 

“Wonderful!” The sorcerer sounded far too jovial all things considered, not even shrinking back when Yennefer and Geralt both glared at him. “Then, my esteemed colleague, if you’ll be so kind as to unbind me I shall be on my way.”

Yennefer barked a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I think not. You’re coming to Aretuza with me, where you can explain to a jury of your peers exactly what you’ve been getting up to.” She chanced a look at Geralt. “You’ll be okay getting Jaskier back on your own?”

A feral grin spread across Geralt’s face, teeth sharp and vicious in his mouth. It felt like a whole month’s worth of Witcher energy had been returned to him all at once, and he couldn’t wait to direct it at the monsters who had tried to take his bard from him. “Just point me at a portal.”

Yennefer grinned back, her expression almost matching Geralt’s in its ferocity. “It’ll take you to the bottom of the caves,” she said, snapping her fingers and conjuring up a whirling portal by the far wall. “Give them hell for me, okay?”

“Make sure they don’t go easy on this fucker,” Geralt replied, quickly patting himself down to make sure he had everything he needed - weapons, armour, potions. “I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“I’ll have the good wine ready for the two of you.” 

“Jaskier prefers Cintran Ale.”

“Just go get him back, will you?”

Geralt laughed, bright and fearless, feeling unstoppable as he made for the portal at a run, the full strength of his Witcher physique propelling him onwards.   
  
The Arachnomorphs didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

The portal took Geralt right to the foot of the western caves just as Yennefer promised, but then again he wouldn’t have even thought to expect anything less of the sorceress. As soon as his feet hit solid earth he took off at a run again, reveling in the speed at which he could now move. 

He swiftly followed the tracks that led to a rocky outcrop matching Ciri’s description of the Arachnomorph lair. When he got close enough to hear noise emanating from the nearest cave he slowed to a prowl, his footsteps cat-light as he inched his way towards the opening in the rockface. His senses picked up five separate heartbeats, and assuming one of them belonged to Jaskier - one of them  _ had _ to be Jaskier because the alternative was too much to even entertain - that meant Geralt was looking at four opponents.

Could be worse, could be a  _ lot _ worse.

He took a moment to swallow a Blizzard potion, and after a second’s hesitation followed it down with Petri’s Philter - better to risk a little toxicity poisoning than a lot of dead Jaskier - and after that there was nothing left to do but make himself known and take down the giant spiders one by one.

Afterwards, when he stood in the middle of the cave covered in Arachnomorph guts and dripping blood that (probably) didn’t belong to him, he found himself consumed by primal, instinctive glee. This was what he was born for, what he was  _ made _ for. And to think that he could ever be happy with anything else had been utter foolishness.

The steady thump of the last remaining heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he was abruptly brought down from his high by the sight of a human-sized cocoon resting by the far wall. He hurried over towards it, palming a small but sharp dagger as he moved, and didn’t hesitate as he sliced through the silken webbing from top to toe. He made sure to work swiftly but carefully to make sure he didn’t harm its contents, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Jaskier tumbled forwards into his arms, unconscious but mercifully alive.

“Jaskier, Jaskier can you hear me?” he said loudly as he laid Jaskier down on the ground, patting his cheeks to try and rouse him. “Come on Jaskier, wake up.”

Jaskier lay immobile for just long enough for Geralt to start to grow concerned before he spluttered his way back to consciousness with a great wheeze. Geralt let out a relieved sigh as Jaskier rolled onto his side to cough up a large amount of grey phlegm, finally letting himself relax after the rush of battle.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, rubbing along the bard’s back as he heaved.

“Is that what this place is?” Jaskier said groggily as he coughed up the last of the gunk in his lungs. “I’m not sure I like it.”

Geralt held out his waterskin so that Jaskier could rinse his mouth out. “Trust me, it’s better than the alternative. Arachnomorph dinner is a nasty way to go.”

Jaskier groaned, pushing himself up onto his knees before accepting the water and taking a healthy swig. “Terrible ballad potential too, talk about an ignoble ending.” He rubbed his eyes gingerly - the cave was dark but the cocoon must have been even darker - before finally turning to look at Geralt. Geralt could practically see the moment realisation struck, Jaskier’s eyes growing wide in shock and his mouth falling almost comically open. “You’re...you’re back.”

“I am.” For the first time since being returned to his Witcher body Geralt felt uncomfortable in it, unsure of how Jaskier was about to react.

Jaskier reached out to grab Geralt’s upper arm, his fingers barely curling around the hard muscle underneath his armour. “Oh I have  _ missed _ you,” he said passionately, talking directly to Geralt’s bicep. 

Geralt couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped him at that. “Good to know that almost dying hasn’t changed you,” he said, leaning into Jaskier’s touch despite himself.

“Oh come on now,” Jaskier replied, eyes continuing to roam hungrily over Geralt’s body. “I’ve turned almost-dying into an artform at this point.” His gaze finally tracked up to meet Geralt’s, and Geralt was almost blown away by the unbridled heat that shone back at him. “Not to mention, the almost-dying sex that follows is always wonderful.”

Geralt groaned, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Jaskier’s banter was oh so familiar, almost  _ too _ familiar after the whirlwind that had been his day. He dropped his head onto Jaskier’s shoulder as he wrapped the other man up in his arms, revelling in the feeling of him being safe and protected within his sturdy embrace once more. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re okay.”

Soft hands stroked along his back before Jaskier returned the hug just as fiercely. “I’m okay, I’m here.” Jaskier replied softly, all trace of his earlier teasing gone. “You found me, just like you always do.”

Eventually they separated, Geralt feeling grounded enough to let Jaskier out of his embrace, even if he did keep one of his hands held tightly in his own. Jaskier for his part didn’t seem to want to be particularly far apart either, pressing himself close to Geralt’s side as they both stood up.

“So. You’re really a Witcher again?” Jaskier asked, leaning quite a bit of his weight against Geralt as they made their way towards the cave exit.

“Mmm, I think so,” Geralt said, making sure Jaskier was safely out of the way as he flung a grapeshot bomb behind them back into the cave. Based on Ciri’s report of the attack there were at least another four Arachnomorphs that were part of this hoard, but since he wasn’t about to leave Jaskier and go hunt them down, destroying their lair would have to suffice for now. 

Satisfied that the explosion had destroyed the nest in its entirety, he turned back to face Jaskier again, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to apologize for the change. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier’s nose crinkled in confusion. “What on earth for?”

Geralt rubbed at the back of his neck with the hand that wasn’t still holding on tightly to Jaskier’s. “I...hmm...You seemed to really appreciate it. Me. Before.”

Jaskier didn’t reply for a long moment as he blinked slowly at Geralt, while Geralt resisted the urge to fidget under his gaze. When he did eventually respond, his words were laced with distinctly fond exasperation. “And so you thought I would be what?  _ Disappointed _ that you were a Witcher again?”

“You said it yourself, things were easier while I was human,” Geralt insisted. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”

“Sure, in some ways,” Jaskier admitted. “But not in any way that really counted. Gods, Geralt, did you really think I would be  _ upset _ to see you back to your normal self?”

“I...well...yes, kind of.” 

Jaskier gaped like a fish, uncharacteristically lost for words, before seemingly giving up and throwing his hands above his head with an indignant squark. The next thing Geralt knew he had an armful of wriggling bard, who was determinedly insisting on kissing every inch of available skin Geralt had to offer. 

“You...ridiculous...man,” Jaskier exclaimed between kisses, his hand wrapping firmly around Geralt’s neck and dragging him closer for yet more fevered affection. “Completely…utterly… ridiculous.”

“I don’t think I’m that ridiculous,” Geralt grumbled even as he allowed himself to be basically devoured. “It’s not an unreasonable assumption given how enamoured you clearly were.”

“I’m enamoured by  _ you _ , you great oaf.” Jaskier drew back just enough to punch Geralt’s shoulder surprisingly hard. “I love you in any form, in  _ every _ form. And yes I admit, the novelty was fun for a while, but I never would have expected you to actually  _ stay _ like that. Gods above, Geralt, I think I know you well enough by now to know that you would be miserable as a human!”

“It could have been fine,” Geralt said, fully aware of how weak his argument sounded. “It would have been fine, if it made you happy.”

“None of that now,” Jaskier insisted, drawing back just far enough so that he could clasp Geralt’s face between his hands. “I thought I trained this self-sacrificing bullshit out of you a decade ago.”

Geralt huffed a soft laugh, turning his head to press an apologetic kiss to Jaskier’s palm. “I guess I need to be reminded every so often.”

“I’m happy to do so as often as you need,” Jaskier promised, expression sincere. “As long as you actually tell me next time you start to feel like this.  _ Words _ , my love. I know you know how to use them.”

“You know I’ve always been better with actions,” Geralt replied, cutting off Jaskier as he started to object with a heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and passion. When they finally drew apart Jaskier was panting slightly, looking slightly dazed and Geralt couldn’t help his smug grin. “See?”

“Shut up and come here,” Jaskier replied, hands slipping around the back of Geralt’s neck to drag him back into another desperate kiss.

Geralt let himself get lost in Jaskier, fully handing himself over to the bard as they restated their commitment to one another. He wouldn’t have been able to say whether it was minutes or hours, but eventually he noticed the shift in Jaskier’s movements, tipping from lust to exhaustion. 

He drew away reluctantly, forcing himself to put a hand to Jaskier’s chest as the man whimpered and tried to reclaim Geralt’s lips with his own. “We should head home,” he said, trying and failing not to grin at Jaskier’s petulant whine.

“No, not yet. I’m fine, really.” Jaskier scrabbled at Geralt’s arms unconvincingly, and if his lethargic movements hadn’t given him away, his words were followed by a truly spectacular yawn. Geralt was reminded of a Basilisk unhinging its jaw to swallow its prey.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Geralt promised, then scooped Jaskier up in his arms before he could object. A not-so-small part of him thrilled at just how effortless the action was; he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed picking his bard up. 

“You better,” Jaskier mumbled, already shifting to make himself a pillow out of Geralt’s shoulder. “Hmm, I suppose there are worse ways to travel.”

Geralt chuckled to himself as he started to make his way down the mountain, pressing a soft kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. The bard was already out cold.

* * *

  
  


Ciri was waiting for them in the courtyard when they returned, flinging herself at Jaskier as soon as Geralt put him down on his feet. Geralt was relieved to see that she was looking much better than when he left; she was still favouring her left side but colour had definitely returned to her face.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ciri exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around Jaskier’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” Jaskier soothed, one hand cupping her head as the other stroked along her back. “You did everything you could, I saw you fighting, you were magnificent.”

Ciri pulled away, eyes damp, and Geralt’s heart broke all over again at how distraught she looked. “Not magnificent enough to protect you, clearly.”

“Arachnomorphs are a tricky opponent, especially when it’s eight on one,” Geralt said. “When you’re healed I can show you some tricks for fighting them as a hoard.”

Ciri turned to Geralt, her expression lighting up as she took him in. “You’re back!” she cried happily, moving away from Jaskier to throw herself at Geralt. Geralt grabbed her around the waist and swung her around like he had when she was a child, both of them laughing delightedly. 

“I’m back,” he agreed, putting her down on her feet and kissing her cheek fondly. “Good as new.”

“I’m glad,” Ciri said with a wide smile, and just like with Jaskier Geralt could smell nothing but honesty on her. And just like with Jaskier, Geralt felt foolish all over again for thinking that Ciri would have wanted anything less for him. 

“Is Yennefer back?” he asked for lack of a better response, and Ciri smiled knowingly at him.

“She arrived just before you did. She told me to tell you she’ll be getting her medicines ready in your rooms, and you are both to check in with her as soon as you get here.”

Jaskier gave an exaggerated groan. “But I’m fine. I don’t need to be poked and prodded.”

“No, Yennefer is right,” Geralt had to admit. “You should get checked out.”

“But you  _ promised _ . You said you’d make it up to me.” Jaskier turned the full force of his pout on Geralt, bottom lip protruding and all, and Geralt hated himself just a little for being responsible when the alternative promised to be far more fun.

“And I will,” Geralt insisted. “As soon as you have a clean bill of health.”

Jaskier grumbled some more, but allowed Geralt to steer him towards the house, giving Ciri a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder as he walked past. “We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

“Of course,” Ciri replied, eyes still bright but looking much more centered than when she first saw them.

Geralt gave his daughter another fond nod, then focussed on taking Jaskier to Yennefer. Despite his nap on the way home Jaskier was already flagging by the time they got to their rooms, his abduction having clearly taken more out of him than he’d care to admit. 

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Yennefer deadpanned as soon as she saw them, the dryness of her greeting betrayed by the obvious relief shining in her eyes. “Into bed with you then.” 

Her tone brooked no room for argument, and Jaskier only put up a token grumbling protest before he allowed himself to be maneuvered by the sorceress, barely letting out a peep as her magic ran over him.

“You’re looking good,” Yennefer finally declared, and Geralt let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Surprisingly good, actually. A proper night’s sleep, and a couple of days taking it easy and you’ll be back to your usual irritating self.”

“Love you too, Yen,” Jaskier muttered, eyelids already fluttering closed.

“Did you do that?” Geralt asked, staring down at the already-sleeping bard.

“No, he was just that tired,” Yennefer said, casting a couple more spells to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. “He’s been in stasis for the better part of a day. It doesn’t have any long term impacts, but it isn’t exactly a restful experience.” 

“How much of it will he remember?” Geralt asked. Like Jaskier had said, this wasn’t exactly their first kidnapping rodeo, but it was always good to know what triggers Geralt should be looking out for.

“Very little,” Yennefer said. “Arachnomorphs are good enough to stun their prey before cocooning them, so likely he’ll just remember being knocked out, and then being woken up by you.”

“Well that’s something at least. Probably won’t even make it into a song.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Yennefer teased, her expression fond. “If he hasn’t woken up by supper give him a nudge. He needs food just as much as sleep.”

“What happened with the sorcerer?” Geralt asked, finally remembering to check.

“He’ll probably be restricted to Aretuza for a while. I’m hoping he’s tasked with cleaning up the library, that place really needs work.” Yennefer said with a wry smile.

“That’s it?” Geralt frowning, thinking he’d gotten off awfully easy if that were the case.

Yennefer shrugged. “What he did was meddlesome, but he didn’t actually harm you or do anything permanent.”

“Hmm.” Geralt wasn’t convinced, and he had half a mind to hunt the sorcerer down himself to reiterate just how fucked the man would be if he ever tried something similar again, but right now he had more important things to focus on. Jaskier came first, he always did.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Yennefer said knowingly, slipping out of the room before Geralt had a chance to respond.

* * *

Jaskier slept like the dead for almost four hours, not stirring until the sun had well and truly set. Geralt stayed by his side the whole time, alternating between reading, meditating, and just sitting holding Jaskier’s hand. It was nice having the time to settle into his new - old - body again; it felt like returning to Kaer Morhen after a hard year on The Path, where everything was familiar and everything fit just like it should.

He filled a glass with water when Jaskier started to make waking noises, helping him to sit up in bed with a good number of pillows behind him before handing it over. “Here, drink, you must be thirsty.”

Jaskier downed the contents of the glass in one go, panting slightly as he finished and held it back out to Geralt to refill.

“That’s better,” Jaskier finally said as he finished the second glass. “Fuck me, I was parched.”

“Understandable,” Geralt said as he put the glass down on the bedside table. “Arachonomorph fluid is incredibly dehydrating.”

“Amongst other things,” Jaskeir said with an exaggerated shudder. His tone was light, but there was a faint darkness behind his eyes that Geralt probably would have missed earlier on in their relationship.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

Jaskier opened his mouth, no doubt to answer with something classically flippant, but then paused and sighed. He shuffled over on the bed to make space, and then patted the mattress next to him.

Geralt recognised it as the invitation it was, and didn’t hesitate in climbing up next to him, holding an arm out so that Jaskier could bury his way into his side.

“It was dark. Really dark,” Jaskier said quietly, his voice partially muffled by Geralt’s shirt. 

“We’ll keep the torches burning at night,” Geralt reassured, drawing Jaskier closer and pressing a soft kiss to his crown.

“And no heavy blankets,” Jaskier added. “I don’t think that’s going to work for me for a while.”

“Consider it done.”

Jaskier twisted to smile up at Geralt, a small, genuine thing entirely different to the wide open grin the rest of the world was usually treated to. Geralt had come to think of this smile as his smile, for him and him alone to enjoy.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said.

“Of course,” Geralt replied, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips this time. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“There were things you had to address first, I get that,” Jaskier said, one finger trailing down Geralt’s bicep. “Speaking of, I believe there was something you promised me when we got home.”

Geralt had to put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder to stop him from moving as he tried to surge up and kiss Geralt. “Easy there, your body still needs to rest.”

“No, absolutely not. I will not be denied a third time. A promise was made, Geralt, a promise!”

“And I fully intend to keep that promise,” Geralt reassured, his hands still on Jaskier’s shoulders to keep him still as he rolled to straddle his hips. “But you are going to lie back and let me take care of you, okay?”

“Oh. Yes, that works.” Jaskier’s eyes lit up as realisation struck, and he sunk back into the pillows behind him with a contented hum. Geralt followed him down, capturing his lips in a sweet, insistent kiss as he started to lazily roll his hips.

His movements were slow, languid. He made sure to take his time worshiping Jaskier’s body, moving from his mouth to kiss along his jaw and down his neck to his exposed chest. He kept up his steady grinding, revelling in the small moans and whimpers he was able to draw from the man underneath him.

It didn’t take long at all before he felt Jaskier start to harden between his legs, and Geralt’s prick eagerly swelled to meet it. He shifted so that he could quickly remove his trousers, then drew back the blanket so that he could do the same for Jaskier. He’d planned to devote just as much care and reverence to Jaskier’s unclothing as he had his body, but eager hands urging him onwards let him know that his partner had moved from eager to impatient. He contented himself with a light kiss to the inside of each of Jaskier’s thighs before he returned to his previous position; him in just his tunic and Jaskier in his chemise.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispered as their hard cocks rubbed together, precome from one or both of them easing the glide. 

“That’s it, just feel it,” Geralt muttered into Jaskier’s neck as he kissed his way back up to claim his lips again. 

“I am. Gods, Geralt, I am,” Jaskier moaned, his hips jerking with semi-aborted thrusts as his hands scrabbled ineffectually at Geralt’s shoulders.

Geralt rose up on his knees so that he could lean over and retrieve the small pot of oil from their bedside table, slicking up two fingers and reaching behind himself to trace over his hole. He didn’t pause before pushing in with both fingers, hissing at the stretch that was only just the right side of painful. He quickly worked himself open, aiming for speed and efficiency over sensation. Having Jaskier spread out panting underneath him was more than enough foreplay for him, and he didn’t want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary before making his lover fall apart.

“Look at you, so eager for me,” Jaskier crooned, his fingers tracing up and down Geralt’s sides as Geralt continued to spread himself wide. “You just can’t wait to have me inside of you can you?”

Geralt’s only response was a breathy moan as he pressed up against that sweet spot inside of him that made everything spark. The second he was satisfied that he’d be able to accommodate the larger stretch of Jaskier’s girth he removed his fingers and shuffled forwards so that Jaskier’s cock slid between the cleft of his ass. “Ready?” he asked, the desire making his usual growling tone even more jagged.

“Fuck,” was Jaskier’s succinct response, which Geralt took for a yes as he rose up and slid down onto Jaskier’s cock in one smooth motion. 

The groan that punched its way out of his lungs was mimicked by Jaskier underneath him, both of them reveling in the abrupt, carnal sensation as Geralt took him all the way to the hilt.

“Oh gods,” Geralt moaned, taking a moment to adjust to Jaskier’s delicious thickness. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“Move,  _ please _ ,” Jaskier begged, those dexterous fingers curling around Geralt’s hips, and Geralt didn’t need telling twice. He lifted up, his thigh muscles tensing as he slid almost entirely off, before sinking the whole way down again.

He repeated the action again and again, fully utilising his newly-returned stamina as he took Jaskier higher, reducing the man to babbling whimpers and scrabbling hands as they both inched closer and closer to their release. 

“I... _ fuck _ …” Jaskier gasped. “I’m close, I’m so close.”

“Yes, do it,” Geralt encouraged, his thighs still pumping relentlessly as he brought one hand down to roughly stroke his own cock. “Come for me. Fuck, Jaskier, fill me up.”

Jaskier’s fingers dug in almost painfully as he arched up underneath him, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he came. It was enough to tip Geralt over the edge, and with a rough grunt he followed suit, painting thick spurts across Jaskier’s chest before collapsing down next to him.

The two of them lay panting, catching their breath in the wake of their combined orgasms. Geralt’s body was ringing with sensation, aftershocks shooting through every inch of him as he slowly came down from his high.

“Oof,” Jaskier gasped, one hand fumbling to pat Geralt’s chest as they both stared up at the ceiling. “That was delightful, thank you.”

Geralt chuckled softly. “You’re welcome,” he replied, lifting his arm in offering and feeling delighted warmth spread through him as Jaskier immediately shucked off his soiled shirt and rolled into his open embrace with a hum of contentment.

“I forgot how fast you can move when you really let loose,” Jaskier teased, “I’m going to be feeling that one for a while.”

“Was it too much?” Geralt asked, suddenly nervous. He’d had a month of not needing to temper his strength in the bedroom; he hoped he hadn’t gotten carried away.

“Not at all,” Jaskier said, lifting his head off Geralt’s chest to raise a mischievous eyebrow at him. “In fact I fully expect a repeat performance as soon as that wonderful Witcher refractory period of yours allows. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little advantage now.”

Geralt barked out a startled laugh, not even trying to dampen the smile on his face as he craned his neck to kiss Jaskier. “Later, Yennefer will have my head if I overtax you while you’re still healing.”   
  
“That woman always was a spoilsport,” Jasker grumbled, but his lack of follow up made Geralt think that he was more tired than he was letting on. 

“Sleep now,” he said instead, casting  _ Igni  _ to light a few more candles around the room before shifting so that he could draw Jaskier closer into his side. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Jaskier hummed and wriggled to get comfortable, and almost immediately Geralt heard his breathing start to slow and even out. He waited until Jaskier was asleep before lightly kissing his head and whispering “Love you, bard.”

And maybe Jaskier wasn’t quite as asleep as he was letting on, because his response was immediate. “Love you too, my Witcher.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go folks! I hope you found this a satisfying resolution to kidnapped Jaskier!


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now to round things off with a sickeningly sweet epilogue, because sometimes I just need overabundance of fluff in my fiction to offset reality! 
> 
> I really hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and thank you so much for all the kudos and comments you've left me along the way, I hoard each and every one of them like a particularly greedy kudos dragon!

“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” Ciri asked, not for the first time, as she helped them check their room for anything they might have forgotten.

“As much as we’d love to, Ciri darling, adventure awaits us along The Great Path.” Jaskier stood in the middle of the room and threw his arms open wide, excitement practically radiating from his pores.

“The Path,” Geralt said as he got down on his knees to check underneath the bed. “It’s just ‘The Path’, nothing great about it.”

Jaskier waved away Geralt’s comment, decidedly not helping with packing up their room as he picked up his lute and strummed a few teasing chords. “Yes, I do know that, but honestly, you Witchers should really consider a rebranding. The Great Path sounds much more heroic.”

Geralt tried to roll his eyes in exasperation, but the action ended up leaning far too much towards fond amusement to really land. In all honesty it was hard to even pretend to be anything other than wildly besotted given the month they’d had; between the de-witchering, the spider kidnapping and Geralt’s all around failure to just  _ use his words _ , he couldn’t help thinking that it was a miracle Jaskier stuck around sometimes.

Then again, as he watched Jaskier smile and banter with Ciri, the sweet smell of joy and contentment rolling off him in waves, he liked to think he made up for it in other ways. Jaskier might prove his love with eloquent declarations in public (and filthy promises in private), but Geralt had always been a person of action, whether that took the form of stocking his potions kit with the strongest salves available for human injuries, or simply offering up his arm for Jaskier to fall into when he woke from a nightmare.

And, of course, there was the sex. If Geralt thought they’d been active while he was human, it was  _ nothing _ compared to now that he’d gotten his powers back. Jaskier had proven to be practically insatiable, testing the limits of even Geralt’s impressive Witcher stamina on more than one occasion.

Yet another reason why it was high time they returned to the road, really. If they stayed any longer there was real danger that they might actually break the bed, and Geralt had no desire to provide Yennefer with  _ that _ particular brand of ammunition if he could at all avoid it.

Not that he hadn’t loved getting to spend some quality time with Yennefer and Ciri, especially these past few days where he’d been able to enjoy their company without the stress of his situation tainting everything. But neither he nor Jaskier were made for staying in one place. It just wasn’t how they worked.

“I’ll try and meet you both in Kaedwen towards the end of the season,” Ciri said as the three of them finally left the room and made their way down to the courtyard. 

“Will you be spending winter in Kaer Morhen this year?” Geralt asked.

“All things being well, yes. It would be nice to see everyone again, it feels like it’s been forever.”

“I know they’d love for you to be there,” Geralt said, wrapping an arm around Ciri to give her a quick hug. “As would I.”

(He couldn’t rely on actions all the time, after all.)

“And me, don’t forget about me,” Jaskier trilled on Ciri’s other side, and Geralt groaned as he lifted the arm around Ciri’s shoulder to give the bard a light shove.

“We could never, you’re far too loud.”

Yennefer was waiting for them in the courtyard. A stablehand next to her held Roach, who whinnied and pawed at the ground as they came into view. She was as impatient as they were to get going, it seemed. 

“Here’s everything I collected on your sorcerer friend,” Yennefer said as Geralt reached her, holding out a waterproof tube filled with papers. “Keep me up to date with what you find, I have to admit I’m quite intrigued.”

“Of course,” Geralt said, taking the tube and slotting it into one of Roach’s saddlebags. He and Jaskier had agreed to make their way north towards the abandoned manor house where they’d found his sorcerer. Geralt’s curiosity still hadn’t been fully satisfied as to why the man had done what he did, and what he’d been working on so far away from civilization. With any luck returning there would provide some answers. 

And if not, it had been a while since they’d been to Aretuza. The council might have seen fit to let him off with a little librarian work, but that didn’t mean Geralt couldn’t ask some questions of his own.

“Right, come here you,” Jaskier said briskly, gathering Ciri up in a tight hug and kissing the top of her head as she hugged him back just as fiercely. “No sadness okay? We’ll see you again before you even start to miss us.”

While Jaskier was saying his goodbyes to Ciri, Geralt turned back to Yennefer. “Thank you, Yen, for...everything.”

Yennefer batted away his words with a wave of her hand, but Geralt could see the pleased flush to her cheeks nonetheless. “Don’t be silly, what else would I have done?”

Geralt chuckled at that, and drew her in for a hug of his own. The Djinn’s connection between them had returned along with his Witcher powers, but it was easier now, somehow. Perhaps it was because they’d both had the chance to confirm that their affection for one another was indeed real, and he could allow himself to embrace that rather than fight against it. “We’re lucky to have you,” he muttered gruffly. 

“Well of course you are,” Yennefer replied as she drew away; a soft, fond smile on her face that very few people were privileged enough to get to see. “Which reminds me, I have something else for you.”

She called to get Jaskier’s attention, who turned to face her with Ciri still tucked under one arm, and pulled out a small bottle from one of her skirt pockets. It was about as long as Geralt’s palm, and filled with a bright blue liquid that sparkled and shimmered in the light.

“I was able to identify enough elements of chaos to replicate some of the key aspects of the spell placed on you. This will give you back your human form for a maximum of twenty-four hours, depending on how much you drink.” She smirked at the pair of them. “You never know when being temporarily human might come in handy.”

Geralt blinked at the vial, momentarily stunned. He’d never considered that as an option, the ability to enjoy all of the perks they’d found to his being human, while safe in the knowledge that it was only temporary. 

He could use it the next time they had to travel through a hostile town. He could use it the next time Ciri wanted a proper sparring session. He could use it when...

Jaskier reached forward to pluck the vial from Yennefer’s hand, a devious look on his face. “Twenty-four hours you say?” He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Geralt, and Geralt had to hastily swallow to try and regain moisture in his suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah...I think we can work with that.”


End file.
